


Hetalia Fairy Tales

by Kitty_KatAllie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fluff and Angst, Magic, Multi, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 118,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each chapter will be a fairy tale from Grimm, Anderson, Chinese folktales, etc. They will also feature a new pairing(s) in every chapter. Includes: magical Gilbird, faerie Arthur, multi-ships of every sexual orientation, cavity-inducing fluff, and no smut. Spamano in every chapter in some form and importance. ((This is being moved over from ff.net slowly and more pairings will be added to the tags as it's updated.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ashputtel

Ashes and Magic

  
Once there were two brothers. Their mother was very, very sick. Their father was very not in the picture. When their mother died, their father put them in the care of his friend, an older French gentleman who sold art. The younger brother's name was Feliciano. Although he could be klutzy and spacey, he was a sweet child blessed with a cute, cuddly face and personality. The other was Lovino. He was not so blessed. His features were sharper, his tongue acidic, and his language vulgar and crass. His temper was short and hot and took a long time to die out – if it ever did.  
  
Neither, however, liked taking advantage of Francis's kindness. Their grandfather had left them a little money, but their father had squandered it away gambling and traveling. So Lovino took odd jobs around town – cleaning chimneys, working for a laundry, or blackening boots for pennies. As he grew older, he received harder jobs, and in turn, got leaner, stronger, and darker. His skin was stained with years of drudgery in chimneys, dirty streets, the harsh summer sunlight and harsh winter winds. But it was worth it when he could afford the tiny flat over the laundry shop so he and Feli could move out. It was worth it when Feli made them simple pasta with tomato sauce and delicious, rarely bought, expensive cheese. It was worth it when simple, cheerful Feli smiled as Lovino handed over the hard-earned pencils and canvas for Feli to draw on. Feli had a gift. He was an artist. Francis was ecstatic. When Feliciano became fourteen, Lovino fifteen, and handed over a finished portrait of an ugly, fat, and wealthy duchess's that made even that cow look rather pretty, Francis knew he'd hit the jackpot. Lovino did everything he could to help his baby brother be as freely artistic as possible. Francis sold it to the right people and looked for a _patron_ for young Feli. It was the only help Lovino allowed from the sympathetic Frenchman who had come to love them.  
  
Now, two whole years later, Lovino spent most days in backbreaking labor. Some days his only job was to go around town collecting ash from houses of the rich to make soap for the laundry shop. All day, he trudged up and down the cobbles, his leather boots worn to the heel, his clothes patched, frayed, and dirty, his tanned face black with ash mixed with sweat. He lugged his wagon full of buckets of cinders through town, gasping and panting and sweating and pissed off at the world, until he reached the little graveyard behind the town church. He would hide his wagon behind the little wooden building with its simple, unadorned cross and make his way through the tall weeds and crooked headstones to the farthest corner.  
  
There, his mother lay. Her gravestone was barely a block of local flint, with the words "Isabella Vargas, wife, mother." No date. No lovely inscription that would bring to mind the beautiful, caring, wonderfully patient woman she had been. Before the stone, Lovino would fall to his knees and feel a sad peace fall over him. He cried for her here in the lonely graveyard, where no one could see his weakness, his desperate plea for anything better than this in his heart. Beside the gravestone was the little hazel tree that Feliciano had planted there. The only gift from kind Francis that Lovino had ever given thanks for. Recently, a little yellow bird had come to sing softly to him as he cried. Lovino ignored it most days. On good days, when some bread crumbs or raisins were left in his pockets, he would toss them onto the grass below the tree, as if tossing away trash, and watch from over his shoulder as the chubby bird ate it all up greedily. It was actually nice to have such a sweet little friend like that bird.  
  
Lovino returned home late that night, shoulders and back aching, stomach rumbling, and filthy. The ash and road dust had mixed with his profuse sweating until his body felt caked in black, mucky paste. Tomorrow would be soap-making day and he would smell like smoke, a confusing, stifling mixture of herbs, and animal fat. Tonight, at least, his arms weren't limp, leaden burdens and he could still feel his fingers. Positive thinking, indeed, from our Mr. Pessimistic.  
  
"Lovi~ Lovi~ Francis is here! He has great news! Fabulous news, ve~" Feliciano cried as soon as Lovino stepped inside. He reached down to pull off his boots, desperate for the limited relief the thin rug would give his aching feet.  
  
"What is it, Feliciano? Please tell me you made something to eat. Today was ash day."  
  
"Yes, I know. I made you some cold tomato soup and toasty bread! It was so hot today, ve~ Is that good?" Feliciano asked, hurrying over to help Lovino take off his raggedy coat.  
  
"Yes, that's perfect, Feli," Lovino gifted Feliciano with a rare, soft smile. Feliciano paused, his own cheerful smile faltering. His fingers reached and brushed Lovino's face, just below his eyes.  
  
"How is mother, Lovi?" Feliciano asked, as he always did when Lovino came home with reddened eyes or puffy eyelids. Lovino jerked away and changed the subject.  
  
"Where's Francis? I thought you said he was here?"  
  
"Ah, _mon petit Ashputtel_ , you have come home. _Tres bien_. We must explain this news while dear Feli pours out some soup, _oui_?" Francis interrupted from behind Feli. Lovino scoffed, using his last reserves of energy to sneer in disgust. However, he followed the two into the tiny kitchen/sitting room. Feliciano hurried as he brought out soup, 'toasty bread' and a precious amount of coffee and milk before seating himself on the sagging couch/bed next to Lovino, grinning happily once more.  
  
"Lovi, Lovi~ Francis believes he found me a _patron_ ," Feliciano informed him gaily. Lovino's eyes widened.  
  
"Seriously? Francis, you seriously found someone interested enough in my brother?" Lovino felt his heart leap in joy. Finally, his brother's talent was recognized, finally his brother could make good money and live somewhere better than this hell. And hopefully, dear Lord, hopefully, Lovino could be with him. Even if it was only a cot in Feliciano's closet, Lovino wanted his own bed and clean clothes and warm food in the winter and boots that didn't blister – if only.  
  
" _Oui._ A good friend of mine has a younger brother. His brother is a merchant and wishes to sell Feliciano's paintings with his trading. He will pay Feli handsomely for every painting sold. He hopes Feliciano may even travel with him, if his paintings sell well," Francis explained. His blue eyes softened as he continued. "This man is from a faraway country himself, and wishes Feliciano to return with him."  
  
Lovino felt Feli grip his callused, dirty hands with his pretty, soft, pale hands.  
  
"I want you to go with me! I couldn't possibly leave without you!" Feliciano cried out passionately, tears filming his lashes. Lovino looked up into Francis's knowing face as his heart broke.  
  
"I can't do that, stupid! This guy is obviously going to pay for everything, there's no way he'd pay for me, too! I'd be extra baggage and useless. But if he's friends with _you_ , Francis, how can I trust him alone with Feli? Feli is still young, and stupid, and annoying, too!" Lovino barked at Francis, getting to his feet and pointing his finger in Francis's face.  
  
" _Ohonhon_ , I said his _brother_ was my friend. Ludwig feels the same about me as you," Francis corrected Lovino. Lovino felt a little better about that, but kept his frown.  
  
"Feli will not travel around the world with some damned stranger. He'll bawl his eyes out and run like a scared cat," Lovino still protested. Feliciano sniffled, but didn't disagree. He knew that was _exactly_ what he'd do.  
  
"Ludwig has invited Feliciano to the Prince's balls next week. I am friends with the Prince, as I told you, and he invited _moi_ and my friend and his brother to the balls. I have more than enough money to have Feliciano properly outfitted in time," Francis added when Lovino bit down on his lip.  
  
Lovino struggled internally with allowing Francis's help and the need for Feliciano to go to those stupid parties everyone had been talking about lately. Stupid Prince and his stupid balls. If he couldn't find a damn princess on his own, did he have to drag the whole world into it? Finally, Lovino relented.  
  
"Fine. You do it. You get him there. You _get him out_ , Francis," Lovino ordered, hoping he wouldn't start crying then and there. God, it hurt to think his humble, simple wish couldn't be fulfilled. He would be stuck here in the ashes and soot all his life. At least his brother would be free. At least…  
  
"NO! No, Lovi~ I can't! I can't go to a royal ball without you! I can't leave to a different country without you! Lovi, you can't make me! I love you, Lovi~" Feliciano burst out, surprising both Lovino and Francis. He flung himself on his brother, sobbing heavily. "I can't leave you here alone. With no Feli to make you soup, wash your hair, buy you groceries, and patch your pants? I will not leave you, _fratello_."  
  
"Feli…" Lovino sighed and patted Feliciano head. "If you do not go, I will never speak to you again, never look at you again, and _never hug you or sleep with you ever again_." Feliciano gasped and stared up at Lovino's serious face, his eyes actually wide open. "So you might as well go," Lovino snapped, looking away and ignoring the hot flush on his face.  
  
"Lovi~" Feliciano hiccupped. Francis stood up and laid a hand on Feli's shoulder.  
  
"I will pick you up tomorrow morning. We have a lot of work to prepare you for the ball," Francis told him kindly. Feliciano looked over at him tearfully.  
  
"Lovi can go to the ball, though, right? He can, can't he? Please, one more suit won't be too much. Lovi should dance, too, and eat yummy things and drink wine," Feliciano begged.  
  
Lovino grimaced. "Like I want to. I can't dance at all and I don't have time to go to that bastard's house every day to learn. I also have to work every day. When the ball is over, I'll have to go straight to work without sleep. That's stupid." He looked down at Feliciano's crestfallen face and sighed. "Bring me back something from the balls, and tell me all about them, sheez. You have to have a lot of fun so I can have fun when you tell me about it," Lovino mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. Feliciano smiled sadly as Francis hid his own smirk.  
  
"All right, Lovi~ I promise."  
  
And so Feliciano was going to leave. Lovino and Feliciano slept together that night, awkwardly squished together on Feliciano's soft, warm cot. Long into the night, Lovino listened to Feliciano's gentle breathing and cried silently as he had long ago taught himself. He pressed his nose against Feli's hair, breathing in the sweet, familiar smell of his baby brother and held his narrow shoulders as tightly as he dared.  
  
"I love you, Feli," he whispered, choking silently.  
  
That night, he dreamed of dresses and wine and music and dancing with a stranger that would take him away to a world where _he_ was wanted and could be truly at peace. At last…  
  
The week flew by so fast; it was hard to believe it was already over. The balls were the very next night and the whole town was buzzing with excitement. The King had thrown open his doors to every single young woman who could wear a pretty dress and dance in an effort to find even a peasant-bride for his shiftless, fun-loving son. Lovino watched enviously as women with barely more than him made simple, often poorly sewn dresses for the balls. Even Claudette, that bitch from the bakery, had some gaudy, eye-insulting creation to wear. He sneered in disgust and bent down to pick up the waiting bucket of ash. He could make a better dress than that. Hell, he could make a better _woman_ than that gossipy strumpet. Speaking of the devil- er, _female_ , she was sauntering over to him, smirking unpleasantly.  
  
"I hear your precious brother is going to the ball to fetch himself a husband. He obviously was too feminine to catch a wealthy _woman_ ," she cackled as a few other town girls watched on, waiting for the fun.  
  
"I hear _your_ brother is going to the ball to get drunk and piss on himself- oh, wait, wasn't that last night when he tried to flirt with the Mrs. Marchpane, the eighty-something widow? I heard she knocked him over and said she preferred _real men_ ," Lovino retorted, setting down the bucket in the wagon.  
  
Claudette's face turned crimson red. "How dare you?"  
  
"I already did. You're late on that dare, dumb bitch."  
  
"Damned vermin!"  
  
"Flapped-mouthed shrew!"  
  
"You _filthy orphan._ Your father is a useless drunk and your mother was a penniless street wench, who do you think you are, acting like you're better than-"  
  
His control had snapped. The loud, sharp slap echoed through the street. As his body shook, he snarled through clenched teeth, "You're a heartless, _tasteless_ slut. You're not even worth the dirt under my mother's dead fingernails. You're pathetic."  
  
His handprint was blazing red on her face, and she was too surprised to cry from the throbbing pain. Anger reached her brain faster, and with a sudden movement, she grabbed a bucket of ash and dumped it over Lovino's down-turned head. "Says the _orphan_ covered in ash. You should just go to the ball like that and maybe the Prince will pay you to sweep his chimney out of pity!" Claudette shrieked as Lovino choked and coughed on ashes and soot. She ran across the street as people began to laugh.  
  
Mortified, breathless, and desperate, Lovino ran blindly through the streets, hurrying to the graveyard. He left the wagon full of ash in the street and didn't look back. He reached the graveyard, vaulted over the shaky little gate and managed to stumble his way to his mother's grave, sobbing silently and tears tracking paths through the thick layer of ash on his face. He fell to his knees and collapsed over the gravestone, his mother's name digging into his cheek. His fingers clenched the grass and dirt and his shoulders shook wildly. He cried there for hours, the sun falling before he managed to pull himself together. Stuffy nosed, snot dribbling over his lip, eyes swollen and achy, and throat strained with the effort not to make a sound, he got to his knees and wiped at his messed up face with a dirty fist.  
  
" _Little Lovino, what do you wish for when you cry?_ " chirped a sweet, singsong voice.  
  
Lovino glanced around, wild-eyed and red-faced. Who the hell-? From the little hazel tree, the yellow bird was watching him with curious black eyes. Lovino stared at the bird. The bird stared back. Lovino broke the gaze, shaking his head. _Of course not._  
  
 _"Little Lovino, I can help you. An angel with a silly golden wand gave me the power to help you when I explained how much you needed me. Please, Lovino, what do you want the most right now?"_ The bird hopped from foot to foot and fluttered his wings as he sang to Lovino.  
  
Lovino felt his jaw drop. "That's not possible! You can't- There's no way you could-"  
 _  
"Haven't you ever believed in wishes, in miracles, in magic, Lovino? Just make a wish and see,"_ the bird pleaded. _"What can it hurt just to make a wish?"_  
  
Lovino felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth – he was so thirsty, and hungry, and tired, and dirty. "I wish for a drink of wine, and not just any wine. The kind of wine they serve at the palace."  
  
 _"I can do that! But you need a glass to drink wine and company to drink it with! Make a better wish!"_ the bird taunted.  
  
"I wish for a five-course meal of the best pasta and tomatoes and cheese and I don't wanna get sick afterwards!" Lovino snapped.  
  
 _"But your hands are so dirty! How can you possibly eat good food and not taste ash with a face and hands like yours? Make a better wish!"_  
  
"I wish for a bath!"  
  
 _"You must have clean clothes to wear after a bath! A better wish!"_  
  
"I wish for shoes that never wear out!"  
  
 _"But shoes are for dancing, Lovino! If you get new shoes, you must be able to dance in them! Your wish isn't good enough, Lovino!"_  
  
"How can a wish not be good enough, damn it? It's _my_ wish! FINE! I want to go to that stupid ball! I want to drink wine and eat good food and dance and be clean and beautiful, all right? If you can make it so I can go to that damn ball, then do it!" Lovino finally bellowed.  
  
 _"Yes, that's the right wish!"_ the little bird cheered. The little hazel tree shook and the bird sang. _"Sing the wish, Lovi."_  
  
Lovino frowned, but cleared his throat. _"Silver and gold, little bird, cover me. Little bird, I wish for silver and gold to cover me,"_ Lovino sang in a low, clear voice.  
  
As he sang those few, simple words, his voice changed, his pitch higher and softer. When he opened his eyes, he was kneeling before the tree and his hands were clean and soft and pale. His hair felt so heavy on his head and when he looked up, he felt strands brush his bare shoulders, his elbows and his back. He stood up slowly and realized he wore a beautiful pale silver dress that fell to his toes. Clean, elegant toes were covered in crystal glass. He walked mutely to the church's window, the little bird fluttering excitedly over his shoulder. The glass slippers bent and stretched with the movements of his feet; the glass felt like soft, aged leather that was cut perfectly for his feet. He reached the dim window and stared as his reflection that seemed to glow in the falling sunset.  
  
A young woman stared back. She had his sharp chin and nose and cheekbones; his lips; his eyes, though her lashes were longer and fuller and curled perfectly. Her dark brown hair – _his dark brown hai_ r – fell in loose waves around her face, that single strand that never lay flat curling over her finely arched right eyebrow that perfectly matched her left eyebrow. Her naturally olive-toned skin was soft in the twilight and luminescent against the stunning silver dress. The wide-strap sleeves fell low on her biceps, baring her delicate neck and collarbones, but no cleavage was shown above the sweetheart neckline, though her breasts were high and full. The dress tapered tight at her waist and flared over her nicely rounded hips. It seemed to sparkle like stars when she shifted.  
  
"I-I… Wh-Who… Is that _me_?" Lovino stammered in awe, watching her mouth move in the window along with his words, hearing the soft, high voice of a woman leave his lips.  
  
 _"Yes. If you went as you are, you would be recognized. If your boss finds out you ran out on work to go dancing, you will get in trouble. You must leave at midnight, Lovino. The spell will only last that long,"_ the bird warned. Lovino nodded.  
  
"You're right," the girl replied. "I like it better this way. I'll be a stranger and no one will wonder why I'm there, or laugh at me later for trying to be better than I really am," she grimaced sadly. "Besides, I can't dance, so it's best if _I'm_ led, not leading." Golden eyes fell on the little bird and a genuine smile curved his normally pouting mouth into something beautiful. "Thank you, little bird."  
  
 _"Gilbird is my name. I will be waiting for you at midnight, Lovino! Trouble will happen if you stay longer!"_  
  
"All right, all right, leave me alone! WAIT, how do I get there?" Lovino quickly yelled after the retreating bird.  
  
 _"Take the carriage rolling by."_  
  
Lovino turned and saw the carriage, which was making a ruckus rattling over the cobbles; he was surprised he hadn't noticed it earlier. He… She… raced towards the carriage and hopped on the back. When the carriage continued on (and made his teeth rattle), he breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Wait, _she_. Must think like a girl tonight.  
  
The carriage drove past the castle and Lovino jumped off. Oddly, there wasn't soot or ash on her at all. She was completely clean and sweet-smelling. Her dress hadn't caught on anything or torn and her hair wasn't messed up as his inquisitive fingers showed him. Well, maybe not so odd considering the circumstances. Lovino shrugged and strode to the door, shoulders back, chin high, and heart thumping. She made it to the huge, sweeping staircase and a young page boy, younger than Lovino by a few years, jumped up to escort the strange, beautiful lady up the stairs. Lovino laid his hand on the boy's arm and held up her skirt in her fist, trembling.  
  
"Don't be scared, milady. You're by far the most beautiful in the whole kingdom!" the boy assured her with a bright smile. His blond hair peeked out from under his hat and his big bushy brows were ridiculously adorable on his small face.  
  
Lovino smiled tremulously, too nervous to reply. The boy left her at the entrance to the ballroom with a reassuring grin on his face.  
  
Across the room, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo stood talking with his old friends Gilbert and Francis. They were all talking with Gilbert's brother, Ludwig, and Francis's protégé and former ward, Feliciano. They were laughing and joking and Feliciano was one giant bubble of cheerful. Three hours later, though, Antonio was bored out of his mind. He hated dances. He knew nothing about art. He hated dancing. Almost every woman was falling over themselves to get his attention. He hated dancing at balls where he was supposed to find a bride. And he wished he could go to bed because his head hurt.  
  
And then _she_ walked in.  
  
Devastatingly beautiful. Dark skin, but much lighter than his own. Hair that fell in messy waves. Cheeks flushed red. Eyes as gold as the champagne he was drinking like water. A dress that glowed and glistened like the finest silver. She was bare of any face paint, jewelry, or escort.  
  
No escort? That must be fixed, _right away_.  
  
Antonio downed his champagne in one last gulp (the stuff really was like water compared the tequila he drank with his father) and handed his glass to a waiting servant. He left his friends without a qualm or a word and tried to hurry, without looking like he was hurrying, to the woman before a duke or someone snatched her up. She was looking so guileless, so overwhelmed, and lost; it made his normally smooth tongue twist up into knots. As he reached her side, her pale, golden eyes widened; eyelashes fluttered and made his gut churn. He had never been this nervous in his life. What were those golden eyes doing to him?  
  
"I almost missed the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."  
  
She stared at him, confusion etched into her delicate features. He bowed and paused, waiting for her. She stared at him again, utterly baffled once more. Was this girl one of the poor girls that were allowed into these balls? But her dress was a masterpiece… He lifted his hand, palm up. She blinked and understanding dawned. She raised a trembling hand and set it on his – a small, soft hand that fit perfectly in his. He kissed her knuckles gently and she snatched her hand away, blushing brightly. She clutched her pretty hand to her bosom, confused, embarrassed, and still silent.  
  
"I almost left, you see. I was bored and then you floated into my life like a moonbeam. Ah~ into the room, I mean," he smiled the normal charming grin that made other girls melt. She only glared.  
  
"You're a rake, aren't you? I've heard about men like you. You're all bastards, rutting with women like animals, and sowing their oats as they like. Well, I'm here to _enjoy_ my night, so leave me alone or I'll kick you where it _really, really hurts_ ," she warned, golden eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
Antonio felt himself freeze. Not only did she not fawn all over him, but she didn't even _recognize_ him. A bright, sunny grin that put his debonair smile to shame spread over his dark face and he laughed outright. The girl flinched and stared at him.  
  
"I am not like that, I promise you. I only wish to dance," Antonio assured her easily when his chuckles ceased. She frowned up at him, nose crinkling and brows knitting together.  
  
"If you bring me something to eat and some wine, then I will dance with you," she finally said. Antonio held out his arm, wide, carefree grin still on his face.  
  
"It would be my utmost pleasure."  
  
She reached out, then her fingers flinched away. "What's your name?"  
  
"Anton- _y_. Antony," he repeated firmly after his first fumble. _Idioto!_ For now, his identity was safe. As long as she didn't know he was the Crown Prince, she would still be herself and wouldn't turn into one of those simpering gold-diggers, he told himself.  
  
"Antony?" she echoed in disbelief.  
  
"And you?"  
  
"Lovi- _a_. Lovia, _si_ ," she seemed to mutter to herself. Antonio felt his brows rise despite himself. He wasn't the only one with a secret, it seemed. Who was this girl?  
  
"Who is that girl?" Gilbert asked Francis, nodding in Antonio's direction. Francis sighed.  
  
"I do not know every girl in the kingdom, _mon ami_ ," Francis retorted in exasperation.  
  
"Yeah, but you know most. Take a look, Fran," Gilbert nudged the Frenchman. Francis sighed again and looked over. His blue eyes opened wide.  
  
"Why, I've never seen her before! Though, she does look familiar… no… perhaps not…"  
  
"It's either one or the other! Hey, wait, he's dancing with her?" Gilbert gaped, Francis mirroring him, as Antonio led her to the dance floor. She looked a little angry, but he was laughing. She blushed like a debutante and stared at his chest as he led her into a waltz.  
  
Lovino had never had a more dreamlike night. First, the most handsome man she'd ever seen had asked her to dance. Antony tricked her into dancing first, but eventually led her to the tables. It took all her willpower not to stuff herself silly. Instead, she lingered at the tables, trying a little bit of everything, finding favorites and going back for little tidbits of more. Antony gave her a glass of bubbly wine he called champagne. He spent the entire time she was there at her side, his gorgeous emerald eyes on her face. Lovino had always been partial to emeralds. His mother had had a small emerald ring her grandfather had given her. She had sold it to buy food for them when they were so small Feli couldn't even walk. But Lovino remembered that ring. He remembered the feel and taste of gold and emerald, because being a toddler, he put pretty things in his mouth all the time. His mother had laughed and let him put it on a leather string and swing it back and forth in the sunlight to watch it shine. Antony's face was dark, but many people in their kingdom were dark-skinned, including the royal family. His hair was wild and messy, but it suited his cheerful, handsome face perfectly. She had no idea the impression they were making on the rest of the crowd. Her eyes were only on Antony and the amazing food. He was talking about something, it didn't really matter. She just liked listening to him speak in his deep, accented voice. Then, she noticed the large clock. She dropped her tiny plate on the table and shoved her glass into Antony's hand. He grabbed it awkwardly, startled into stopping midsentence in his speech.  
  
"I have to go!"  
  
"What, but it's not even midnight!" he exclaimed as she picked up her skirt.  
  
"Exactly!" Lovino retorted. She began to wind her way through the dancers, making a few squawk indignantly. Antony was close on her heels and she was too panicked to notice the mumbled "your Highness" directed towards him.  
  
"Wait, Lovia, you'll be back for tomorrow's ball, won't you?" Antony called out as she burst off the dance floor and began to run towards the doors.  
  
She didn't answer, but her heart screamed _yes_.  
  
Lovino stumbled into the graveyard and fell on the gravestone just as the clock stuck the last bell for midnight. The clothes and shoes disappeared and suddenly he was _him_ again. He grinned, thinking about the most precious night he'd ever had. If only he could see Antony again and talk to him again and look into those beautiful green eyes and handsome dark face, if only he could for the rest of his life. His grin slipped off his face when he realized a very crucial detail.  
  
Antony had no idea who Lovino was. Antony saw only Lovia. If he ever saw Antony again, Antony would only see a dirty orphan _boy_ with buckets full of ash.  
  
His face fell into his hands. _What had he done?_  
  
The next day, Lovino told himself not to go back to the graveyard. It was stupid. It was a disaster. He didn't want to fall in love with some cheerful buffoon only to break his own heart later. He was a guy, not the pretty girl he became when he wore the dresses. He wasn't Lovia. He didn't want to be Lovia. He would lose his brother and his dignity if he wanted something like that.  
  
But it didn't stop him from wanting Antony. Handsome, kind, cheerful, charming Antony.  
  
How could only a couple hours in that man's presence affect him that much? He had dreamed of him that night. A flash of scarlet made his heart pound until he realized it was just some woman's apron, not Antony's doublet. Cheerful laughter reminded Lovino of Antony, made him think how much more cheerful and lively Antony's laughter was. As he tipped ash into boiling vats and stirred the mixture inside while his eyes smarted and arms ached, he was really dancing the waltz with Antony again, Antony's hands around his and on his waist, laughing and smiling.  
  
He trudged home that night at the usual time, an hour before sunset. For some reason, he swore he could hear Gilbird singing in his head. _Make a better wish, Lovino! Make a wish~_  
  
"Lovi~!" sang out Feliciano's voice happily. Lovino glanced up, startled.  
  
"F-Feli?" He couldn't help but smile as Feli wrapped his arms around Lovino's waist and snuggled his face against Lovino's chest, completely ignoring the God-awful smell coming from Lovino's ruined clothing.  
  
"I promised to come tell you all about the ball, ve~! I also made you some dinner. Master Ludwig liked my art so much that he gave me an advancement, Lovi! I bought us pasta! Lots and lots of pasta and tomatoes and cheese! We'll feast and I'll tell you all about the ball tonight!" Feliciano rambled on. Lovino realized his whole apartment did indeed smell like a feast and his mouth watered.  
  
"Wine, too, Feli?" Lovino asked hopefully. Feli laughed and shook his head.  
  
"Something better, ve~ I tried it at the ball last night and I thought you should have some, too. It's called _champagne_."  
  
Lovino's face blanched white, his eyes suddenly dark. _You've never had champagne? It is delicious, si?_ Antony's beautiful accented voice sounded in his head. Luckily, Feliciano wasn't looking in his direction as he rambled on about the ball and the food and piled their plates high.  
  
"I have to go again tonight. Master Ludwig told me I must. He's very nice, but most women are scared of his face. I was kinda scared of his face, too, but he's very handsome and kind. I think he is shy. Like you, Lovi~ _Si_ , just like you." Feliciano laughed. Lovino forced himself to smile, though it wasn't _too_ hard seeing Feliciano so happy.  
  
"So, you won't have a problem traveling with him?" Lovino queried as he sat on the couch. Feliciano paused in his constant motion. He looked over his shoulder, his big brown eyes shiny.  
  
"I have a problem leaving _you_ , Lovi. I want to know you're happy before I leave," he said more seriously than he had ever said anything. Lovino blushed and stared down at his blackened hands. _Happy. I was happy last night, being Lovia with Antony._ "Lovino, let me send you money. Let me send you some of what I earn, so you don't have to work like this. I won't be here anymore, so you can find something _better_."  
  
 _Make a better wish!_  
  
"S-Shut up! It's _your_ talent, it's _your_ money. Don't pity me, damn it!" Lovino snapped.  
  
Feliciano sighed and handed over the plate tagliatelle pasta covered with a creamy tomato sauce. After a few moments of eating, Feliciano began to talk about the ball again. Lovino let him, enjoying his pasta and tomato sauce, and envisioning that night all over again. When Feliciano cleaned up and left for the ball, Lovino knew exactly what he was going to do.  
  
He was panting heavily when he reached the tree; Gilbird was waiting for him, preening downy yellow feathers.  
  
"I brought some garlic bread for you," Lovino told Gilbird as he set the bread on the grass below the tree. Gilbird tweeted sweetly, but only watched him with bright black eyes. Lovino blushed slightly, and closed his eyes. "Silver and gold, little bird, cover me. I wish for silver and gold to cover me, little bird."  
  
" _Have a good time, Lovino,_ " Gilbird trilled as Lovino felt cool silk fall over his face.  
  
This time, the dress was bright gold with real gold thread making beautiful intricate embroideries of four-petaled lilies on the skirt. The neckline was round and just a little lower than the night before, but still more modest than the popular fashion. The sleeves were small puffed cap sleeves, the bodice high under her breasts with a darker gold ribbon wrapped around her ribs, and the skirt a long, loose curtain to her toes. Her hair was caught up in a golden net, though gently curling strands were free to frame her face. Once more, she was jewelry- and paint-free, which Lovino was fine with. Jewels and face paint would just feel weird. On her slender feet were the strange glass slippers that felt as though made of cool, supple leather. She grinned up at Gilbird as the sound of wheels on cobbles echoed from the street nearby.  
  
"Thank you!" she called as she picked up her skirt and ran like a deer to the carriage.  
  
The ball was even lovelier than the night before. Streamers of gold paper and paper lanterns decorated with white and gold lilies bedecked the grand ballroom. The tablecloths were all intricate white lace and gold thread that Lovino couldn't help but stroke with his fingertip in awe. Even the platters under the food were of gold and shining white porcelain with lilies painted on them. As Lovino traced the lace absently and scanned the room full of dancing couples, a movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention. She felt her heart beat rapidly.  
  
"Lovia! You did come. I was afraid you would not," Antony said as he approached. Lovino glanced away, red-faced and frowning as she crossed her arms over her breasts.  
  
"I didn't come for you. I came for the food," she muttered.  
  
"Of course, Lovi~" Antony laughed. Lovino gasped and took a step away from Antony.  
  
"What did you just call me?" she demanded.  
  
"It is just a pet name, do you not like it?" Antony queried, looking confused at her reaction. She pressed her hand to her heart and then, slowly, shook her head.  
  
"M-My brother calls me that. I was… I was startled that you used that name," she explained slowly. Antony smiled.  
  
"Ah, then should I not then?"  
  
"I-It's… It's fine. I don't care. It's just a damn name," she mumbled, her cheeks red.  
  
Antony grinned and then bowed low, extending his hand. "Before we dine, would you like to dance, mi _Lovita_?"  
  
Lovino gulped and, against all her better judgment, she laid her hand in his once again. Their bare skin was warm and a fizzle seemed to spread in her blood from his touch. Her eyes flew to his, shocked, only to meet a mirroring look on his dark face. His fingers wrapped tightly around her hand and he pulled her close. Within moments they were out on the dance floor, eyes never leaving the other's face, shocked and mesmerized by this feeling growing between them. She almost jumped out of her skin when his other hand settled on her waist. He smiled softly down at her, his beautiful eyes more like gems than ever as they shimmered in the candlelight from the colossal chandeliers above them. Lovino had never learned to dance, but dancing with Antony was like floating. He led her like an expert, and her own natural grace and cleverness made it easy for her to follow along, growing more confident with each song.  
  
When they were both tired of dancing many, many songs later, Antony led Lovia to the dining tables. He then led her out to the terraces so the warm summer night air could cool them. It had become stifling in the ballroom since so many couples had crowded into the room. Lovia had heard whispers about the Prince dancing with some mysterious beauty, but she was too caught up in her own romance to care about the dumb Prince's love life. As long as his lack thereof kept the balls coming, then Lovia hoped the Prince never found his bride. As long as there were balls, there was Antony. And dancing with him. They strolled the gardens talking about mundane things. Their favorites colors, cats or dogs (Antony preferred cats, just like Lovia), whether milk was good (they disagreed, which was actually kind of fun to argue about), beaches or snow, forests or mountains, summer or winter, their favorites foods, and favorites things to do on lazy days. Lovia mostly talked about things she _wished_ she could do if she had lazy days.  
  
"Will you come back again, Lovi? For tomorrow's ball?" Antonio asked as he helped Lovia up onto the ledge around the large glittering fountain.  
  
The statue was, of course, that of a man and woman dancing as water foamed around their ankles. Carnations were clutched in their entwined hands. Carnations were the symbol of the royal family. Lovia looked down at Antony, who still held her hand and was looking up at her with dark, gleaming eyes. She shivered slightly as the night breeze blew over the cool water of the fountain to breathe over her bare shoulders. Antony let go of her hand and grasped her waist. With little effort, he swung Lovia off the ledge and down to the ground. Tonight, he wore a dark blue coat over a simple, white lawn shirt that tied at the low neckline. She only knew about the lawn shirt, because he took the coat off then and dropped it over her shoulders. She clutched it to herself, surprised and gratified. She could still smell him on the coat and feel the lingering warmth of his body. Suddenly, she laughed, overcome with this emotion that he had built inside her. Happiness unlike anything Lovia had ever felt before shone inside her, as bright as the gold gown she wore. He grinned with her, confused, but delighted.  
  
"As long as there are balls, Antony, I will come. As long as there's you to dance with," she replied, a smile lingering on her pretty lips. She looked like an angel, smiling and shining in the moonlight and Antony felt an overwhelming need to touch her, hold her close, kiss the laughter that still hung on her lips. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh no! The time! I must go!" she exclaimed, as if afraid.  
  
"Wait, no, Lovia! Please, don-Ah!" Antony attempted to run after her as she hurried around him, but she threw his coat in his face as hard as possible. Not only did those stupid gold buttons _hurt_ , he was blinded long enough for her to have reached the steps that led back into the castle.  
  
"Tomorrow night, Antony!"  
  
" _Si_ , tomorrow," Antonio whispered to himself, his fists gripping the linen of his coat in tight fists. "I will not let you run tomorrow, _mi novia_."  
  
Lovino spent the next day making even more soap cheerfully. He couldn't seem to do enough. Time was moving so slow that everything couldn't get done fast enough for him. His boss and few fellow workers were astonished at the change in him. Still dirty, still ragged, still painfully thin, he was suddenly happier than they had ever seen him. He sang while he stirred the soap, laughing like a loon when he choked on the smoke and stink. He cursed at people only half-heartedly when they messed something up. He seemed to dance and weave between cauldrons and down the street in town and shared his little piece of salami with a little dirty cat. He even petted the cat and called it " _mi bella_." Because of his good mood, the rest of the men were also more cheerful, whistling along with Lovino's singing, clapping each other on the back when they got something right, helping out the person who had blundered, and all eating together like friends and telling jokes on their lunch hour. Most figured it must be because of Lovino's little brother's good fortune. Everyone in the town had already heard about Feliciano packing his few belongings and taking them to a fancy hotel close to the castle where his new _patron_ was staying. Though surly and mostly disagreeable to everyone else, Lovino had always been a doting brother, as much as he tried to hide it. This reason seemed plausible to the rest and many kindly matrons decided that day, as Lovino graced them with a rare smile and called out " _Buongiorno_ ," to bring him little meals and some wine when Feliciano was gone.  
  
At sunset, Lovino fairly flew to the graveyard when Feliciano left. He swore his feet didn't even touch the ground, for his sore, tired feet didn't feel the cobbles through the soles of his worn boots. He leapt over the fence and wove through the graves to the little hazel tree. Gilbird flew to meet him and Lovino chuckled as the soft, little bird cuddled against his cheek and fell to his shoulder.  
  
 _"This is the last ball, Lovino. Are you sure you want to go again?_ " Gilbird peeped in his ear.  
  
Lovino smiled as rubbed his cheek on Gilbird's head gently. "Even if it's one more night, it's still one more night with him. I have to see him one more time," Lovino answered as if Gilbird knew exactly who he was talking about. Gilbird asked no more questions, only chirped in reassurance and flew to the little hazel tree.  
  
"Silver and gold, little bird, cover me. Silver and gold and green as emeralds that match his eyes, little bird, please cover me," Lovino sang, his voice becoming sweet and high as he neared the end of his plea.  
  
The last dress was gleaming green, dark and shining at once, just like the eyes Lovia loved so well. She spun, arms outstretched, as the gold and silver thread glittered in the sun's setting rays. The silver-embroidered vines and leaves seemed to grow all over the bodice and skirt; thin gold thread outlined the shapes and traced delicate veins in the leaves. She wore a white lawn blouse with tight, long sleeves under it, the hems embroidered green with the same design on her skirt and bodice. The bodice was a tight corset that tied in the back with matching green strings. The skirt fell from beneath the corset, sweeping and loose and twirling easily around her as she spun.  
  
 _"Remember to be back by midnight!_ " Gilbird warned. Lovia nodded and ceased her spinning.  
  
"Thank you so much, Gilbird. For everything you've done for me," Lovia said earnestly. Gilbird merely trilled gaily in waved to Gilbird and rushed to the street as the carriage rumbled her way. Gilbird watched her go, black eyes knowing and wise.  
  
Antony was waiting at the top of the castle steps as Lovia walked up the wide, sweeping drive. He rushed down the steps to meet her, looking bewildered. He reached out and she took his hands without second thought. A blush blossomed over her face as he kissed the knuckles of both of her hands.  
  
"You look wonderful, _mi Lovita_ , but where is your carriage? Did you walk here?" Antonio asked, his brows lowered. Lovia grinned.  
  
"Is it so odd? Come, Antony, let's dance!" Lovia pulled him towards the stairs, eager to begin the night. The earlier it did, the longer she would have Antony all to herself. How like him to be waiting for her, as if he could read her mind.  
  
" _Si, si, mi chica hermosa_ , let us dance," Antonio chuckled, letting her drag him forward. He would have all the time in the world to get his answers if he got his way tonight. Let her have her mystery now.  
  
They danced and ate and she was smiling and laughing the whole time. Antony never once caught the dark, desperate look in her eyes when she looked up at the clock. He never saw the hungry longing in her golden eyes as she gazed up into his grinning, laughing face. He never noticed her fingers brush his bare wrist, or linger on his palm, as if memorizing the warmth and feeling of his skin. Her golden eyes traced the shape of his face, his mouth, his eyes, the way his hair fell over his forehead and into his brilliant-colored eyes as often as she dared. But she kept the smile on her face, the laughter in her voice, and danced as gracefully as she could.  
  
They stopped to drink champagne and eat a little, when Antony cleared his throat. She looked up at him curiously, her mouth full of bruschetta. She had kept him out on the dance floor for most of the time there, so both were starving and slightly sweaty. She knew her time was close, but she just wanted a few moments more. A few moments more of being next to him.  
  
"Would you like to meet my friends, Lovi?" Antony asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "They've been bugging me about who you were and I never hide anything from them. Please, say you'll come meet them," he begged with big, puppy-dog eyes. Lovia blinked and then looked away before he could see the pain in her gaze.  
  
"What next, Antony, your parents?" she scoffed angrily after she swallowed the food in her mouth. It suddenly tasted like sand.  
  
At his pause, she glanced back at him and felt ice fill her veins. He was blushing lightly and pushing his fingers together. His green eyes met hers, looking adorable and hopeful. " _Si_?"  
  
" _Antony_!" she exclaimed in horror.  
  
"But, _mi Lovita_ , you must realize how I feel about you! No one… There is no one like you! Say you'll meet them all for me," Antony protested, grabbing her wrist. "You must feel the same, you _must_."  
  
"Don't tell me what I _must_ feel or do!" Lovia snapped, tearing her arm away. "I'm leaving!" Feeling tears brim in her eyes, she stomped her foot angrily. "You ruined everything, you damn fool! Damn you! Damn you!"  
  
She spun away, leaving him gaping in confusion as she ran through the room. She bumped into a few people, heedless of the dancers and other guests in her haste to get away. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, gritting her teeth so hard they squeaked. She didn't hear the outraged protests and the later profuse apologies and 'your Highness' as Antonio chased after her. She couldn't hear any of it over the loud sobbing in her mind. She wouldn't cry here; she wouldn't cry aloud. Nevernevernever. She pushed through the castle doors, tears falling on her cheeks. She was almost gone. Almost… almost.  
  
"Lovia!" Antony shouted as his hand wrapped around her wrist again. He jerked her back and she half-turned with the strength of it. She kept on her feet and she glared up at him through a film of tears.  
  
"THAT HURT, YOU IDIOT!" she bellowed. Antony flinched, but kept his grip on her wrist.  
  
"I won't let you run, Lovi," he whispered. Her eyes widened and she tugged and pulled to get free, but he only wrapped his other hand around her free wrist.  
  
"Let me go!" Lovia demanded.  
  
"No. Lovi, don't you understand what I'm asking? I want you to marry me. I want us to dance together every night; laugh together every day. I don't want you to disappear at midnight like a dream. Be my wife, Lovi, please," Antony asked, his green eyes boring into hers.  
  
She laughed harshly, without any humor. "Your _wife_? Antony, you have no idea what you're asking. You don't know me. You could _never_ love me if you knew what I really was."  
  
"Lovi, can you really doubt this? What happening between us is magic-"  
  
"Everything is magic! And nothing lasts, Antony! It'll all be over tomorrow and I'll never see you again! You'll stare me in the face and never know it's me, Antony. Please, let me _go_. I can't marry you!" Lovia interrupted wildly, trying again to pull away.  
  
"Can't or won't?"  
  
"Is there a difference? I can't marry you!"  
  
"Whatever is holding you back, let me help you rid yourself of it. Anything, Lovi, I'd do anything to be with you. I love you," Antony swore passionately, finally releasing her wrists to capture her face.  
  
She should've run then, but those three words froze her. In the moment of her weakness, he pressed his lips to hers.  
  
It was wonderful. Like everything bright and good and beautiful. Like promises always kept. Like freedom and happiness. Like fire that burned in her blood and made her heart beat faster and her head spin. In the middle of all that brightness, something was wrong. Antonio felt it in his heart. Though her lips were everything he ever thought they'd be, there was something wrong. Lovia tried to ignore it, push it away and just pretend she didn't know why, but he broke away from her. His brows were low over his nose, green eyes confused and pained.  
  
"Why does it feel like that? When I look into your eyes, everything is right and perfect, so why does your kiss feel wrong?" Antonio muttered, searching her face as if for an answer written there.  
  
She felt anger replace all other emotions. She raised her hand, and before he could see it, she slapped him as hard as she could.  
  
" _I hate you, Antony! I hate you_!" she screamed at him as tears streamed down her face.  
  
The clock struck the first bell of midnight. Horrified, Lovia gasped aloud. Her golden eyes widened on Antony's face as the tolling seemed to vibrate within her. She turned around and began to race down the stairs to the drive. _Not good, you idiot, not good!_ she screamed at herself.  
  
"Lovia, please, wait, come back! Lovia!"  
  
Antonio pressed his hand to his cheek and tried to follow, but his foot stepped on something hard and awkwardly shaped. He stumbled down the stone steps, barely managing to keep from crying aloud at the pain of it. His wrist felt strange and hot, and his whole body ached as he landed at the bottom of the steps. He curled in on himself even as his mind screamed for him to get up, to continue running after Lovia, catch her before she disappeared forever. A loud cry of horror came from the doors behind him and several servants and guests, including his friends, hurried down to meet him. He was bruised and bloody in a few places, and his wrist was probably broken, but he was conscious. Francis and Gilbert knelt on each side of him, anxious frowns on their faces.  
  
"What did I trip over?" Antonio asked, groaning.  
  
"This!" Feliciano cried out, holding up a glass slipper. "Ve~ How lovely. Look, Master Ludwig, it's pure glass!"  
  
"Hn. It looks like it. What kind of idiot wears glass shoes?" Ludwig wondered in disgust.  
  
"The kind of idiot I'm going to marry," Antonio retorted, grimacing as his friends helped him to his feet. "I want the girl that fits in that slipper without it breaking found. I am going to make her my princess, if I have to spend the rest of my life looking for her."  
  
Francis and Gilbert looked over the top of his bowed head, startled. Antonio was _utterly serious_. Whoever this Lovia was, Antonio wasn't going to forget her any time soon, if ever.  
  
Later that night, Gilbert was leaning on his balcony outside the room in the palace he normally slept in when visiting his powerful friend. How the _hell_ were they supposed to find a single girl using only a glass slipper? He guessed they could go to all the cobblers in the kingdom and asked if any had sold shoes like that. Or maybe they should go to glassblowers? What if they were a family heirloom? Oh God, this was going to be impossible! Who the hell wears _glass slippers_? Gilbert groaned and buried his face in his hands. He looked up, grinning widely, as a soft peep echoed over the grounds. A tiny yellow bird fluttered towards him.  
  
Gilbird had left the graveyard shortly after Lovino had arrived, breathless, red-faced, and sobbing wildly. The boy had looked even worse than three nights ago when he first made his wish. He could only sob Antony's name and 'I hate you'. None of it made any sense to the poor little bird, but he knew what he could do to fix it. Lovino had obviously fallen in love with the Prince like Gilbird thought would happen and it was time for his happily ever after.  
  
Gilbert held out his hand and stroked the little bird's head softly. "You've been gone for a while, little friend. Have you finished what you wanted to do?"  
  
" _Almost. Gilbert, you must help me. The person Antonio loves is waiting for him,_ " Gilbird chirped. Gilbert's eyes widened, then, he smirked.  
  
"Kesesese~ It was you. You were playing matchmaker again, weren't you?"  
  
" _Will you help me or not?_ " Gilbird demanded. Gilbert chuckled his odd chuckle again.  
  
"It happens to be my job to find this girl. Of course I'll bring Antonio to her," Gilbert agreed.  
  
" _But you see, that's the problem. This person isn't who you think she is,_ " Gilbird began. By the end of his tale, Gilbert was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his face.  
  
"You really are something, Gilbird."  
  
Today was blackening day, which suited Lovino's mood. He was exhausted. He had cried until the wee hours of the morning, too tired to even eat, and had to drag himself to work. The townspeople were wondering what had come over him, but, fortunately, made no comments. Lovino stayed in the back of the cobbler's shop, blackening the pile of waiting boots, getting covered in the stuff in the process. Despite being a sit-down job, it was still one of his least favorites. Mostly because the blackening was _impossible_ to get out of his clothes, but also his back was always cramped at the end of the day. The bell rang and Lovino sighed as he got to his feet. The cobbler was already busy talking with a couple about making child-size boots for their toddler, so it was Lovino's job to greet the new customers. He walked out from the back, stuffing the blackening rag in the back pocket of his trousers, and stopped dead. Feliciano and Francis were in the shop, but so was Antony, some huge blonde guy hovering near Feli, and a white-haired guy with blood red eyes and a little yellow bird on his shoulder.  
  
 _What is Gilbird doing with Antony and Feli and… who are those people?_ Lovino gaped at them, flabbergasted.  
  
"We're here to find the lady that fits in this slipper," stated the white-haired guy. He pulled out the glass slipper and Lovino clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his gasp. He _had_ noticed one slipper had remained, it was in his little house right now, but didn't know he had lost the other _at the damn castle_ the night before. "We believe she is working here."  
  
"I'm sorry, milord, but no lady works here. Just me and Lovino who blackens the boots once a week are here. In fact, this boy is Lovino's brother, just ask him," the cobbler answered, bowing in Feliciano's direction.  
  
"L-Lovi _no_?" Antony stammered, eyes widening. Lovino winced and pressed himself against the wall to hide, yet too bewitched by the man's presence to actually leave. His eyes drank in the sight of Antony hungrily. The bruises and bandages made guilt fill him, but Lovino watched on.  
  
"I told you that! But Master Gilbert said his little birdie told me to bring you here! Lovi~ Lovi, where are you? Ve~ Where is he?" Feliciano pouted. Antony stared at him, eyes wide.  
  
"Lovi? You call him Lovi?"  
  
"Ve~ Of course, why?"  
  
"I must meet this Lovino," Antonio told the cobbler, his voice trembling slightly.  
  
"Lovino! Come out, his Highness is here, he wants you to come out," the cobbler called out, looking baffled.  
  
Lovino flinched. He couldn't possibly go out there- _wait, what? His Highness?_ Lovino took a deep breath and kept his eyes to the floor as anger coursed through him. _Lying bastard! He lied to me! 'Antony' indeed,_ Lovino growled silently, walking into the room. He stood behind the counter and nodded his head rudely.  
  
"Lovi~ There you are!" Feli exclaimed. Ludwig's hand on his shoulder kept him from running to Lovino's side.  
  
Antonio stepped forward, eyes still wide. The boy standing behind the counter did remind him of Lovia. The same color hair, the same sharp, delicate features, the same mouth curved down into an angry frown, the same stray curl, the same height. He was darker skinned, rather dirty and stained black on his hands, and much thinner, but… Antonio's heart sped up.  
  
" _Lovi~ I know you're here! I've come to finish your wish!_ " Gilbird sang as he flew from Gilbert's shoulder. Lovino squawked out loud and then laughed as Gilbird rubbed against his cheek affectionately.  
  
"You stupid bird! What are you doing, huh?" Lovino gasped.  
  
"Lovi," Antonio breathed. The same laughter and smile.  
  
The boy glanced at him, eyes wide and frightened and _longing_ , before he glanced away, frown returning as he petted the little bird. "Only my brother calls me that. Who the hell are you?"  
  
"Lovino! Manners! This is the Prince!" the cobbler protested.  
  
That fraction of a second when both their eyes met, Antonio knew. This boy, who knows how or why, _was_ the same person he had fallen in love with. Who else could have eyes as gold, as beautiful? Who else could sear straight into his soul and make everything feel _right_?  
  
Antonio crossed the room in long strides. Lovino jumped and started to back away, fear flooding his face. He was stammering something like 'Wait, you bastard,' but Antonio ignored it. He cupped Lovino's face, the cast on his wrist rough on Lovino's skin. Trembling gold eyes stared up into his and Antonio smiled.  
  
"I said I would find you, _mi corazon_. No matter what you look like on the outside, your eyes will always be the same," Antonio said simply. Lovino's lips parted in surprise. Antonio took it as an invitation.  
  
He kissed his Lovi again, and immediately knew why it was wrong before. Before, somewhere in his heart, he had felt the lie; the disguise Lovino had hidden within. Lovia was fiction, a mask on the beautiful boy inside. It was Lovino Antonio had loved all along, not the guise he wore. And now, with all guises stripped and only truth between them, he kissed his Lovino until they were breathless. The taste of Lovino was like nothing he'd ever imagined. Antonio groaned into his mouth and gathered Lovino closer, pressing them as close as they could be. So thin and sharp, this Lovino. Arms stronger than Lovia's wrapped around his neck and pulled him down, eagerly meeting him kiss for kiss. They parted reluctantly. Hazy gold eyes gazed into green.  
  
"B-but…" Lovino started.  
  
"Marry me, Lovi _no_. Today, right now. Be mine, princess, prince, whatever you want. Don't run from me again," Antonio interrupted, pressing his forehead against Lovino's.  
  
"I-I can't-"  
  
"Can't or won't?"  
  
Lovino blinked and then smirked. " _Won't._ "  
  
"Why not?" Antonio asked, smiling. He reached up and grabbed Lovino's hands. He brought them around to his face and paused. They were rough, callused, and blackened with grease. He loved them even more than Lovia's soft, little hands. These hands made more sense for his Lovi- his incorrigible, stubborn, lovely Lovino. He kissed Lovino's knuckles and smiled at Lovino. "I know the truth now. There's nothing to hide."  
  
"You _lied_ to _me_. Apologize, _your Highness_ ," Lovino attempted to snarl, but his anger was already a distance dream. Seeing Antonio see _him_ , and kiss even his filthy, work-hardened hands, had softened the shield around his heart.  
  
"A thousand apologies, _mi corazon_. I will never lie to you again. I will apologize every day –breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and every night we spend together before we make love. Will that be enough?"  
  
"Hell no, but it'll do for now," Lovino muttered, blushing brightly.  
  
"Then, you'll marry me?" Antonio pressed. Lovino looked away, pouting and embarrassed.  
  
"I'm not wearing a dress."  
  
Antonio burst out laughing and swept Lovino up off his feet. The indignant squawk was cut off by Antonio's lips. He couldn't get enough of kissing his _esposo_. Lovino wrapped his arms around Antonio's neck and kissed him in return, fighting the urge to smile and kick Antonio's head. They lived  
  
Happily Ever After


	2. Sleeping Beauty

Eyes Wide Shut

There was once a peaceful and prosperous kingdom. The people of this kingdom loved their king and queen. The taxes were low, the harvests were rich, and luxuries were easy to come by. Their Majesties often went out into the countryside and talked to even the lowest peasants, making everyone feel equally loved and cherished by their monarchs. However, much to the loving couple's dismay, the queen was barren. For years, the kingdom wished for an heir.

Then, finally, the queen was blessed. The kingdom rejoiced to hear the good news and the castle was flooded with goodwill gifts from their subjects, from the richest duke to the poorest beggar, in hopes for a safe and healthy child. To the entire kingdom's contentment, two healthy baby boys were born. The first one was named Lovino, and he had eyes the color of golden wheat and beautiful oak-brown hair. The second was Feliciano, and the king swore Feliciano was born with a smile. He was much smaller than Lovino, with hair more auburn than brown, and long lashes framing lovely brown eyes that normally remained closed. In celebration, the king sent thousands of invitations to their christenings. Every person in the kingdom was welcomed and even people from the neighboring countries were invited. Everyone flocked to the castle on the appointed day. Food stalls were set up in the streets, ordered by the king to give away free food to everyone, though the stall owners were generously compensated by the crown for the service. Many others set up unofficially, hawking gifts for last-minute well-wishers. The guests of honor were the kings, queens, and heirs of the nearby kingdoms. Everyone hoped for a betrothal between the four kingdoms.

Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert were the crown princes of their respective kingdoms and also good friends. They were all the same age and were all training to become knights together. With them was the little boy Ludwig, affectionately known as Lutz. He was younger, smaller, and more cautious than his older brother Gilbert, and also significantly weaker. He always seemed sick and there were rumors that he may not survive his childhood. He was always tagging after the trio, trying to keep up in the hope of proving that he could be as strong as his big brother. Today, he was hiding behind Gilbert, blue eyes wide and frightened while the three older boys watched in boredom. Lutz was only three, and this huge crowd of people in this strange place was terrifying him. Gilbert was already a big boy of seven, so Lutz felt much safer when Gilbert held his hand. The four boys were walking up to where the queen was sitting next to a large crib. They were walking kind of slow, thanks to Lutz, but none of the big boys complained.

"Hello, young princes. Welcome to Alia," the beautiful queen said when they stopped at the steps to the dais and bowed. She had a sweet, friendly smile on her face. "You are all very young for this sort of thing, but I'm hoping you will help us. My babies are only just born, but maybe you three, excuse me, you _four_ , would like to promise to protect my darlings for me?"

"You want us to marry one of them, doncha?" Gilbert asked, smirking. "We eavesdrop a lot on the grown-ups. We know what's going on."

" _Si_ , but I don't think we can help you very much," added Antonio with an apologetic smile. "None of us wanna get married, we wanna go be heroes and travel the world!"

" _However_ , we will try to help, _mon belle regina_ ," Francis finished. He had much better manners than his friends, even though they were all the same age. The queen giggled behind her hand when the king next to her chuckled.

"That is all we ask for, little heroes," she replied pleasantly. She waved them forward.

The three older boys leaned over the crib and saw the two babies sleeping peacefully, curled up next to each other. Antonio and Francis's eyes lit up. They had never seen babies before and the two looked so precious and soft lying in their green covers and pillows. Antonio reached out and poked the bigger baby's pudgy cheek, but the baby only frowned and slept on.

" _Bwudah_ ," Lutz whispered, tugging on Gilbert's shirt. Gilbert was less impressed, since he already had a baby brother unlike his friends. These babies weren't half as adorable as Lutz. He looked down at Lutz, grinning.

"Yeah?"

"I wanna thee," Ludwig lisped, blue eyes shining. Gilbert grinned wider.

"Sure thing, little bro." Gilbert snatched Lutz up and propped him on his hip. Ludwig grabbed the edge of the crib and peered down at them. He grinned at Gilbert and looked down again. Gilbert laughed. He had a weird laugh for a seven year old. It sounded kind of like 'kesesesese', but Ludwig liked it anyway. The babies, though, didn't. One scrunched up his face and started to make whimpering noises, like an animal being provoked. The smaller one turned his head towards the sound. Ludwig leaned over, eyes wide and excited. Brown eyes slowly opened and met Ludwig's big blue-eyed gaze. Tiny hands reached up and bubbles blew from the baby's happily burbling lips. Ludwig smiled and reached down. Tiny hands clasped and Feliciano laughed for the first time, as happily as a baby knew how. Ludwig laughed, too.

"Look, _bwudah_ , the liddle baby liketh me!" Ludwig announced.

From the thrones, the king and queen smiled at each other. "It looks like our children will have a say, too," the queen joked. "The little boy, what is his name?"

Gilbert looked up. His arms were getting kind of tired, but he wasn't going to admit it when his little brother looked so happy. "His name is Ludwig."

"Ah, yes, I remember now," the queened eyes saddened slightly, but then she smiled again. "Ludwig, my dear, would you come here?"

Ludwig looked up at the queen, then down at the smiling Feliciano. "Can baby come, too?"

"What a very good answer," the king chuckled. "That baby's name is Feliciano." The king rose and walked over the crib. He picked up Feliciano himself and then held out his hand to Ludwig. Gilbert set him down on his feet and Ludwig ran over to clutch the king's hand. "Ludwig, would you promise to protect my Feliciano for the rest of your life and hold his happiness above even your own?"

Ludwig's eyes grew big. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but this big, impressive man wanted him to protect the precious, beautiful baby. Most people acted like Ludwig couldn't even protect himself, always giving him medicine and making him go to bed early. This man, however, wanted Ludwig to protect _Feliciano_. He was going to trust Ludwig like Ludwig's parents trusted Gilbert. Ludwig nodded solemnly. "Ith Feliciano my _bwudah_ , too?" Ludwig asked.

"No, dear, one day, when you and Feliciano are grown up, you two will be married," the queen corrected him as she laid a hand on his head. "If no one objects, that is. One of the older brothers was supposed to be chosen to protect Feliciano."

"I don't. Lutz likes the little snot rag," Gilbert shrugged. Antonio was poking at the whimpering baby's face again until Gilbert kicked his shin.

"OW! I mean, yeah, I don't care," Antonio grinned stupidly.

"I will always be friends with Gilbert and Antonio. If you ally with one of my friends, you ally with me," Francis said in as grown-up a voice as he could manage. Antonio and Gilbert grinned at him and they all bumped fists.

"Such good boys they are all. Our sons will be blessed by your friendships," the king said. He looked down at Ludwig again. "And you? Do you want to protect my son and marry him when you grow up?"

"I will gwow big and stwong, like _bwuder_ , and pwotec' Feliciano. I pwomithe," Ludwig answered, blue eyes serious and earnest. He reached up and grabbed the black leather string around his neck and pulled it over his head. From it hung an iron cross. "Fo' Feliciano. It will pwotec' Feliciano till I'm big."

"Thank you, Prince Ludwig," the queen replied in an equally serious tone as she took the cross, her brown eyes twinkling. Ludwig nodded, frowning intently.

"Oh, what a sweet little scene. I've never seen anything so sweet in my life. I think I might just _vomit_ ," crowed a bright and sarcastic voice from the entrance to the throne room.

The guests all gasped. In the doorway stood Ivan the Mighty. He was a tyrant over a vast land far to the north. He didn't have many dealings with Alia, since Beilreich, Gilbert and Ludwig's country, stood in the middle. In fact, the king and queen had never even met Ivan before. They didn't send him an invitation because it never crossed their minds that it was necessary. Apparently, they were wrong. The tall, pale-haired man looked livid, even though a sugary-sweet smile was carved on his face.

"Maybe you didn't realize that I have a little sister, the same age as those boys, who might want to marry one of your _precious_ babies," Ivan said in his still deceptively sweet voice. "Instead, we get completely forgotten, not even invited to the party. How do you like that, Natalia?" He looked down to a little girl clutching at his leg. She shook her head mutely.

"Please forgive us if we offended you," the queen said, getting to her feet to stand with her husband. The kings and queens of the three other lands stepped forward as well. "We never knew you wanted to come. Please, be assured that you are always welcome here."

"I don't think I can trust that. You see, I had to come all the way here just to remind you I existed; that _we_ existed," Ivan tutted as he shook his head. "I have to make sure you never forget my pretty little sister or myself ever again. I'm sure you understand that."

"Ivan, please, let's discuss this like men," the king said as he handed Feliciano to the queen.

"Oh, no. I want to discuss it _my way_ ," Ivan retorted. He strode up the walkway and right past the other kings and queens without so much as looking at them, as the little Natalia struggled to keep up with him. Ivan stopped in front of the cradle where Lovino still lay. Ivan lifted the baby up to his face and smiled, the sudden movement leaving everybody in a state of shock. Lovino blinked his eyes open, scowling. Yes, even babies scowl (well, Lovino-babies). Big golden eyes stared into Ivan's face and then Lovino began to wriggle. He didn't like this strange, smiling stranger with his angry purple eyes. He wanted his mommy and daddy! He began to bawl and his father stepped forward.

"Ivan, release my child," the king ordered in a quiet, firm voice.

"I don't want to yet," Ivan kept his eyes on Lovino. "He's such a noisy brat. I bet you like all the attention on you. I bet you like your silken sheets and your pretty mommy and daddy and your tiny brother. But one day you won't. You see, you're going to be a very selfish boy one day. You're going to want everything for yourself and your precious baby brother will just be in the way. On your sixteenth birthday, when your brother is betrothed and you're left unwanted and unchosen, you'll be so jealous it'll consume you. You will stab your brother on his betrothal night and he will lie dead at your feet. You be will left with your brother's dead face in your memory for the rest of your lonely, exiled life. And your family," he paused and his gaze swept over the Alian royal family, "will be broken. Alia will die with Feliciano."

"Go to hell!" Antonio suddenly cried out. He kicked Ivan's shin as hard as possible.

The horrified spell on everyone broke as Ivan grunted in pain. Everyone moved forward, but too slowly. Ivan dropped the still squalling Lovino as both he and Natalia disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Lovino!" the queen cried out.

Antonio had already grabbed Lovino and fallen to his butt. He sat on the ground, butt aching, but a grin on his face as he held the sobbing baby to his chest. "I got you, _mi carino_ ," he cooed softly, rocking Lovino. Lovino sniffled and raised puffy, red eyes to Antonio's face. He merely sucked his thumb and stared at this new stranger, oddly satisfied. Antonio grinned up at his parents. "He's wrong, that bad man. You see, _I_ choose Lovino. I can marry him when he's all grown up and the bad things won't happen, _si?_ "

"I don't know, Antonio, but you're a very good boy for trying," the queen of Roha patted her son's head and smiled down at him.

"I didn't know Winterlanders could do magic!" the king of Beilreich exclaimed. "Is this curse something we should really worry about?"

"He disappeared in a cloud of smoke, _mon ami_ ; who knows how powerful his curse is," the king of deLis pointed out.

"Darling, we must ask the boys' godfather," the Alian queen murmured as she next knelt to Antonio and held Antonio, Feliciano, and Lovino close to her heart. "Thank you, Antonio."

"Is it wise to ask their godfather? He's… Well, he's _odd_ ," the queen of deLis protested mildly.

"He's the only one who can tell us about how powerful the curse is, or how to undo it," the king of Roha stated in a resigned tone.

"Your Majesties, the guests, they are becoming…restless…" the chamberlain interrupted in an apologetic tone. His eyes fell on the babies anxiously. "Are the children…?"

"They are fine. Giuseppe, help me up." The king hurried to help the Alian queen to her feet. "Dear friends, the children are whole and safe. We will be calling the great faerie, Arthur, to come and help us, so never fear. That horrible man's curse will _not_ come to fruition. Please, return to your homes and know that your gifts were received with all due gratitude," she addressed the crowd.

A few stressful hours later, the Majesties were in the nursery. The Alian king and queen and the deLis queen were sitting quietly and patiently, while the other two kings and one queen were pacing anxiously. They had sent the summons to the great faerie and were waiting for him to arrive. They only had to whisper their wish into a sparrow's ear (which Arthur had left in case of emergencies) but they didn't know how long it would take. All the boys were already asleep. Francis and Gilbert had fallen asleep sitting next to each other on the floor, Gilbert's head on Francis's shoulder, which he was also drooling on. Ludwig had been allowed to sleep next to Feliciano. His tiny hand was wrapped around Feliciano's even smaller one and they were sleeping peacefully. Lovino had taken forever to fall asleep and had whined and flailed around fitfully when set down. While the adults had discussed how exactly one whispers into a sparrow's ear, Antonio had snuck into the ridiculously large and comfy cradle, spooned around the restless Lovino, and wrapped his arms around the baby. Lovino had immediately calmed down and fallen asleep, sucking on Antonio's shirt. Lucrezia, the Alian queen, had assured Isabella, the Rohan queen, that it was fine and left them alone.

Finally, just after sunset, the room filled with light and three figures appeared. One was a short, slender, blond man with bushy, black brows, bright green eyes, and a dark scowl. The other was a much taller man with blond hair, blue eyes, and a cheerful grin. In his arms was a tiny boy with purple eyes and wavy blonde hair. He looked a lot like the taller man and had a sleepy expression on his face.

"What the hell do you want? You've had your brats, haven't you?" Arthur the Faerie demanded angrily.

"Why, yes, we did. Thank you, but-"

"Then, what the hell is the problem?"

"Artie, let 'em talk, geez. They wouldn't call you unless it was important. I mean, I'd feel pretty stupid whispering to a bird, myself," the stranger admonished Arthur. Arthur turned bright red.

"Alfred, do _not_ call me Artie in public. I have a reputation you know! People will think I'm getting soft!"

"But you _are_ getting soft. 'Specially round the middle. You should stop eating so many pancakes. At your age-"

"I'm a bloody faerie! I don't get _fat_ and I don't get _old_. _Shut up_ , you wanker, or next time I'm leaving you home!" The man called Alfred whistled nonchalantly at this while the little boy's head flopped on Alfred's shoulder drowsily. Arthur grumbled under his breath.

The rest all stared. Arthur had been around for _thousands_ of years. He had been the people's faerie godfather for as long as anyone could remember. He only showed up to people who deserved it, like peasant girls who needed glass slippers for balls, down-on-their-luck farm boys who needed geese to lay golden eggs, and heirs to thrones who needed some good adventure or two to prove their worth. He also had the reputation of being rather… well, a snob. And kind of a hard-ass. For a magical being that did good deeds, he could be downright unsympathetic sometimes. He also was known as quite the loner; it was completely unheard of some tall, blond, stranger popping in with Arthur on his visit and even telling him to have some manners. Or call him Artie. Lucrezia recovered first.

"Arthur, sir, we think Czar Ivan left a curse on our sons. We were hoping you could help us," she told him.

Arthur's bushy eyebrow went up. "You've had them for about a week and you've already got them in trouble? OW, you wanker! Did you just punch me in the ribs?"

"Don't be an ass, Artie. Go help out those babies!" Alfred ordered, pointing at the crib. The little boy opened his eyes and gave Arthur a pleading, puppy-dog-eyes look. Arthur sighed and ran his hand through his head.

"Bleeding hearts, the both of you. It's not my fault if their parents can't keep babies out of trouble," Arthur muttered. He went over to the crib anyway and looked in. A pair of green eyes and pair of blue eyes glared up at him. He blinked. "What the hell are you brats doing in there?"

"We ah pwotec'in' ouwa bwideth," Ludwig growled in his lisping little voice. Arthur blinked.

"The hell you say?"

"If you touch my Lovi, I'll bite off your hand," Antonio clarified in a much more menacing tone… For a seven year old, he actually pulled it off pretty well. He even had a snarl on his lips and his green eyes darkened angrily.

"I'm not going to touch anybody, you crazy little brat!" Arthur snapped. He glared at the slumbering babies and his frown became much more serious. "Czar Ivan, you say?" he said suddenly as he turned back to the waiting king and queen. They nodded and held each other's hands.

"Arthur, what is it?" Alfred asked, his own voice serious. Arthur ran his hand through his hair.

"I think Ivan went to a really good witch and bought a curse. A powerful one. If I studied them more, I could probably figure out which bastard it was, but it won't mean anything in the long run. I can't take it off."

"What! But you're the _faerie_! Who could possibly be more powerful than you?" the King of the Beilreich exclaimed.

"That would be my and my brother's fault," Alfred spoke up with chagrin. "My brother was going to die and Arthur saved him, but he lost some of his magic."

"It's only temporary, damn it!" Arthur added angrily.

"Oh good, then maybe when your magic is back you can take off the curse?" the queen of deLis sighed in relief.

Arthur bit his lip. "It's temporary for me, but in human years, it'll take me about fifty years to regain it all."

"We only have sixteen," Lucrezia murmured dazedly. Giuseppe's hands tightened around hers.

"I bloody well know that!" Arthur frowned and began to pace. He didn't notice that he had lifted several inches off the ground and was walking on thin air, but Alfred did. He chuckled quietly. "I can't take it off, but I _can_ change it a bit." Arthur finally declared. He noticed Alfred's smirk and looked down. Muttering angrily, he let himself fall a few inches to the ground.

"What do you mean?" Isabella questioned.

"I can _change_ it, make it a little less… gory," Arthur explained without explaining anything. He walked down to the crib and pulled a golden wand with a large star on the end out of thin air. He cleared his throat and waved his wand over the crib and, glaring at Antonio in warning, he tapped first Lovino's forehead, then Feliciano's.

" _When you are sixteen, you will become jealous, this is fact. But instead of death, deep slumber upon the whole kingdom you will enact. On a spindle of a spinning wheel, Feliciano will prick his finger, but after true love's kiss, the accursed sleep will not linger."_ He waved his wand once more over the crib and ended the spell.

"That's it?" Giuseppe exhaled in relief.

"I'm sorry to say that it's not," Arthur replied with a tired frown. Alfred went over to his side and Arthur leaned into him gratefully. "Feliciano cannot stay here."

"NO! My baby, why?" Lucrezia cried out. Arthur winced, then frowned at her.

"If Ivan finds out I changed the spell, he'll just kill them himself out of spite! Surely, you realize that! At least one of the children must leave, to protect him! He doesn't see Lovino as a threat because it's _Feliciano's_ death that will break the kingdom according to his curse."

"He'll kill Feliciano, so Feliciano must be hidden," Giuseppe closed his eyes in pain as he spoke.

"He can come live with us. Lutz and him are already betrothed. It'll be good for Lutz to have Feliciano nearby. There's no denying that he's a weak, sick boy. Maybe being together will be better for both of them," King of Beilreich offered pragmatically. Arthur shook his head.

"You are even closer to Winterland. You cannot take Feliciano. None of you can, it's too obvious, too simple to order an assassin. Feliciano must be hidden away from _everyone_ and even from himself. He cannot know who he is until his sixteenth birthday. Maybe, if he passes through it unscathed, the curse will dissolve. Curses have a way of making things happen, but we can always try," Arthur told them.

"He can come with us," Alfred said suddenly. Arthur stared at him. "What? You're a _faerie_. Even without some of your magic, no one would mess with you. Plus, your magic will make it easier to hide him. He'll have Mattie to play with and you'll teach him proper manners and how to drink tea. It'll be great. You know you like being a mom; don't you want more kids, Mommy?" Alfred teased. Arthur glared at him.

"If anyone is 'Mommy', it's you, mortal git," Arthur snapped. "But you're right. That is a good idea. Will you let me take him, your Majesties?" He turned back to the Alians. They looked at each other, tears in their eyes.

"Yes. Please, take care of our son," Giuseppe pleaded as Lucrezia covered her face with a shaking hand. Arthur nodded.

He turned back to the cradle to see Ludwig glaring at him, red in the face.

"NO!"

"I must. For Feliciano's sake," Arthur retorted. He took the baby from Ludwig's clutching hands. Ludwig burst into sobbing coughs and Gilbert woke up, blinking groggily.

"Wha? Ged 'way from mah _bruder_ ," Gilbert protested sleepily. Arthur groaned.

"What is it with these brats? I'm here to _help,_ damn it!"

"Hey, kid, Lutz, right?" Alfred spoke up. Ludwig glared at him as he coughed behind his fist. "Did you give him that necklace?" Ludwig nodded. "We'll make sure he keeps it. So when he comes back to marry you, you'll remember him, okay?" Ludwig paused, but nodded again as he fell back against the wall wearily. "We'll see you in sixteen years."

A flash of light and they were gone.

~Sixteen Years Later~

Veneziano, a young boy of fifteen, hummed under his breath cheerfully as he flapped a large, white sheet in the air. He was standing outside the little cottage he lived in and hanging laundry on the line. His family was inside, Arthur-papa and Alfred-papa arguing about what to have for dinner. Matthew-brother was probably trying to calm them down, but Veneziano couldn't hear him from here. It also meant that today was the exact same as yesterday, which was good for Veny, as he was called by his papas and brother. He liked their simple, fun, and loud family, though he used to be scared of Arthur-papa. Now, he knew that Arthur-papa was just "all bark and no bite," as Alfred-papa said.

Veny turned when he heard a door slam shut. Arthur-papa was walking outside, arms crossed over his chest, fuming and red-faced. Obviously, he lost the fight again. Alfred-papa always won in the end. Veny laughed aloud and waved.

"Papa, I'm almost done here, ve~. We are making pasta for dinner, right?" Veny called out. Arthur sighed in exasperation, but a smile curved his lips.

"Yes, Veneziano. Alfred and Matthew are making the pasta, now," Arthur frowned at this. "I don't burn pasta. How can one burn _pasta_?"

Veny giggled. "I am going to go get tomatoes, then. You know I always find the best ones, ve~"

"What should I do? Make bloody tea?" Arthur grumbled. "You lot act like I'm useless."

Veny grinned and, having draped the last sheet on the line, skipped over and threw his arms around Arthur's petite waist. Arthur's ears turned crimson as he stuttered senselessly. Even after almost sixteen years of living with the affectionate Veneziano, and the even more cuddle-demanding Alfred, Arthur was still embarrassed by sudden embraces. Veny kissed Arthur's cheek and smiled at him. Veny was rather small and petite, like Arthur and very much unlike Alfred and Matthew, who were both rather tall and broad-shouldered (Mattie was still growing though).

"You're not useless, Papa. You make sure everything gets done, we just do the doing~" Veny laughed. Arthur swatted him away, cheeks flushed.

"Off with you. How are we going to make your birthday dinner if we don't have those tomatoes?" Arthur asked irritably, once again fighting a smile. Veny laughed and ran towards the basket sitting on the cottage's front stoop. As Arthur watched Veny race into the forest, laughing and singing, his smile began to ebb.

He was really going to miss that boy.

_~Elsewhere~_

Deeper in the forest, a tall, broad-shouldered man muttered irritably as he swatted at low-hanging tree branches. His blond hair shone in the late afternoon's sunlight and his blue eyes were narrowed and _angry_. Mostly at himself. At his _bruder_ , too, but mostly at himself for being such a stupid fool.

_If you want a shortcut, just go straight through the forest, little bro. The palace is on the other side. No problem, kesesesese._

Ludwig sneered to himself for believing his brother. Just because it was directly on the other side of the forest, it didn't mean it was the best possible route, especially a _short_ cut. He was leading his horse over a fallen log on boggy ground when he heard singing. He paused and felt his horse jerk her head up at the sound. Both looked off to the side, the mare's ears pointed forward. She relaxed a moment later, apparently sensing no danger. She whickered softly and nudged Ludwig's shoulder. Ludwig pushed her face away absently and began to walk towards the sound. It really was beautiful singing in the soft, lyrical language of Alia. It sounded rather feminine, but, for some reason, he was sure it was a boy's voice. He finally came upon a break in the trees and it opened into a small clearing. A large, wild looking garden was surrounded by a hip-high stone wall. Fruit trees, berry bushes, peas, beans, tomatoes, even potatoes and pumpkins, were growing in a riotous mass of vibrant life. In the midst of this vegetation stood a figure. At first, Ludwig thought it was indeed a young girl. Then, the person turned. Even with the large blue apron wrapped around him and the white kerchief on his bright, auburn hair, Ludwig could see it was indeed a boy. He was tiny, though, with narrow shoulders, slender waist, and long, bare legs. He wore a strange assortment of clothing: that absurd blue apron that fell to his dirty, bare feet, tight green trousers that had been cut high on his thighs, and a girl's red blouse with green flowers sewn into the linen. He had never seen trousers that like in civilized villages in either his country or Alia, but he didn't exactly dislike them. His horse whickered loudly just by his ear and he cursed out loud in pain and surprise.

"Oh!" A soft voice echoed through the air and Ludwig looked up to see the large basket full of tomatoes drop to the ground with a loud thud. Large, bright red globes rolled in every direction and Ludwig hurried to grab at them. It was his fault, after all, for surprising the boy.

His arms full of tomatoes, he reached for the last one and a tiny, brown hand fell on it just beneath his own. He looked up, blue eyes wide. In front of him, the boy was gaping, frozen in shock. Long lashes framed beautiful brown eyes and Ludwig felt his heart thump painfully against his ribs. The lashes shuttered closed, hiding the overwhelming beauty of the boy's eyes. He slowly began to smile and his whole face lit up in joy.

"Ve~ You looked so scary and angry standing there, but now, I see you're very cute. You're a nice person, aren't you?" the boy said, making Ludwig's face heat.

"You shouldn't say something like that to a stranger," Ludwig mumbled, tipping his load of tomatoes into the basket the boy held.

"My name is Veneziano Kirkland. What's your name?"

"Ludwig von Beilreich," Ludwig replied automatically. The boy, Veneziano, grinned again.

"Now, we aren't strangers, Luddy~" Veneziano informed Ludwig in a happy, singsong voice.

Ludwig felt his mouth twitch at the corners. "My name is _Ludwig_ ," he corrected. Veneziano only laughed. Ludwig sighed and didn't pursue the matter. He didn't notice the small smile on his face.

"Are you a knight, Luddy?" Veneziano asked when he stopped laughing. Ludwig blinked, startled.

"How could you have known?" Ludwig wondered in shock. Veneziano laughed again.

"You have a horse. You also have a shield and sword hanging from the saddle. My papa says only knights have shields," Veneziano pointed out. Ludwig's shoulders eased of tension.

"Oh, yes, you're right. I am a knight. And you, Veneziano?"

"You can call me Veny," Veneziano offered brightly and sat more comfortably on the grass. He patted the grass next to him and Ludwig, after a moment's hesitation, took the offered seat. "I live with two papas and my big brother in a cottage not too far from here. I am not allowed to cook, or sew, or learn how to use a sword like Mattie, so I do what chores I'm allowed and pick vegetables and tomatoes from the garden. Ve~ I do bake, though. My papa Alfred loves my cakes, but Arthur-papa is always a little sad that I bake better than he does. He always burns his scones and he always makes his cookies so bland, ve~ But we eat them anyway, to make him happy," Veny told Ludwig. He didn't seem embarrassed or afraid of Ludwig. He only chattered on about his family and baking and Ludwig found himself enjoying the way Veneziano talked and laughed so easily. "What about you, Luddy? Do you have a brother, too?"

" _Ja_. He is loud, annoying, and irresponsible, but he will be King one day," Ludwig stated simply. He never thought about lying to protect his identity from this strange boy who lived in the woods. He never lied, for one, and for another, Veny seemed much too innocent to be a danger to himself if he _had_ thought about it.

Veneziano gasped. "King? Why, you're a _prince_ , Luddy? Ve~ Ve~ You never said. I have to bow and call you 'your Highness' and keep my eyes precisely between your neck and collarbone!" Veneziano flailed his hands wildly, distress evident in his face. "Arthur-papa will be very angry if I do not follow his teachings!"

"No, wait, Veneziano, you don't have to," Ludwig said quickly, grasping Veny's hands. A hot blush crept up his neck and ears as Veneziano stammered into silence. An answering heat bloomed over Veny's cheekbones. They both stared at their interlocked hands, but neither pulled away.

In silence, their hands clasped tightly and their heart beats pounded in their ears. Who knew there could be so much in another's hand? Veneziano could feel heavy calluses on Ludwig's palm, his skin was rough from weather and sun, yet his skin was paler than Veneziano's, and his hands were so much _bigger_. They completely engulfed Veny's hands and were hot on Veny's skin. For his part, Ludwig was amazed at how soft Veny's hands felt. Though the younger, smaller boy was outside a lot and his skin was of a dark, golden and olive hue, his skin was still smooth to the touch. He could feel Veny's bones, fragile and delicate, below the soft skin; feel the subtle flexing of muscle and tendon when Veny's entwined their fingers. Ludwig gulped nervously as Veny smiled softly up at him. God, this boy was cute; so innocent and bright. And his laughter was like a fond memory, something Ludwig felt he should remember- something he felt he had heard before.

He didn't notice Veneziano leaning forward until warm breath brushed his chin. Ludwig jerked away and lost his balance, sending both of them careening to the forest floor. Veneziano was gasping in laughter as Ludwig stammered wildly and tried to get back on his feet. Somehow, their legs had gotten all twisted up and Veneziano was lying below him, laughing gaily.

"I scared poor, Luddy, ve~ I only wanted a kiss," Veneziano looked up at Ludwig, eyes actually open, warm and inviting, making Ludwig shiver slightly. "I thought you wanted to kiss me, too, Luddy."

"I-I… It's n-not th-that I… b-but…" his stammering had become more incoherent than before, especially with those gorgeous brown eyes looking at him. He blushed bright red as Veneziano cupped his face with both of his tanned, slightly freckled, soft hands.

He opened his mouth to say something, but another voice called out instead. Veneziano jerked in surprise and he twisted under Ludwig, his head tilting back as he tried to look back towards the garden. Ludwig felt something churn, hot and heavy, in his gut.

"I hear Big Brother Mattie, ve~ I must go," Veneziano pouted. As he tried to wriggle away, sunlight flashed off a pendant that had fallen onto his chest from under his blouse. Ludwig grasped Veneziano's wrist as he attempted to get up.

"Wait, what is that?" Ludwig demanded, grabbing the pendant. Veneziano squeaked in protest. "This is a pendant of Beilreich royal family. Only one of our line has this cross. How did you get this?"

"Ve, ve~! I don't know what you mean! I've always had it. Papa Arthur says it's to protect me," Veneziano explained tearfully.

"Veny! Veny, where are you?" called out another voice, a young man's by the sound of it.

"Mattie, I'm coming! Just a moment, ve~" Veneziano called back. He looked at Ludwig's frowning face and touched his square jaw. Ludwig jerked out his thoughts, blue eyes meeting Veny's. Whatever he had been thinking was wiped away by that beautiful gaze on his. "You will come back tomorrow, won't you? I'm turning sixteen tomorrow. I want you to come to my birthday party."

"If I have to fight a dragon, I will come," Ludwig said, completely serious. Veneziano laughed in delight.

"Ve~ I don't think there will be dragons. Just come back to this garden and then follow the brook in that direction. The cottage is less than five minutes away. I will be waiting for you, Luddy~" Veneziano told him, smiling. Ludwig nodded. As he got to his knees, preparing to stand, Veneziano quickly kissed his cheek and jumped to his feet. Ludwig froze, staring up at the boy as he ran off with his huge basket of tomatoes. A tiny smile curved his normally too-serious mouth upwards.

_~ With Veneziano ~_

Veneziano walked with Matthew back to the cottage, singing happily a song about love. It was one of his favorites, so Matthew didn't notice anything strange about Veny singing it. Nor did he notice the new enthusiasm or the bright glow Veny oozed. He was too busy remembering what their papas had told him. Matthew was frowning and trying not to sigh unhappily. His sweet, cheerful, devoted little brother was going to be taken away and he may never see him again. He wished tomorrow would never come; which was the exact opposite wish playing in Veneziano's mind. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. Tomorrow, he would have yummy cake, receive presents, and Ludwig would come back. Handsome, blond, blue-eyed Ludwig, with his serious frown and big, warm hands would come back tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, Ludwig would kiss him and take him away on his big, grey horse to Beilreich. Then, they could have a big wedding and eat cake again and have more presents! And Veny could kiss Ludwig every day and they would live happily ever after. Yes, tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.

So when he skipped into the cottage and into the kitchen, he was too caught up in his daydreams to notice the grim, uncharacteristic frown on Alfred-papa's face, or the mutinous pout on Arthur-papa's. He tipped the tomatoes into the sink and then spun on his heel.

"Papa, Papa! I invited someone over to my party tomorrow! Please say it's all right, because I already did, ve~" Veneziano laughed, clapping his hands together. The two older men glanced at each other in shock.

"You met someone today, Veneziano?" Arthur demanded sharply.

"Yes, a knight! He was very handsome and serious and shy, ve~ He was very cute," Veneziano said, giggling. "You will like him."

"Veny, that isn't possible," Alfred replied softly, his blue eyes sad behind his spectacles. "You won't be here tomorrow. None of us will be."

Veneziano finally noticed the frowns on everyone's face. He glanced at Alfred, then to Arthur, then to Matthew. Tears began to form. "B-But why? I t-told him… I th-think I'm in l-love with him! Alfred-papa, you always say there's such thing as true love, and I found it, I'm sure of it! P-Please, let me stay here, wherever you're going!" Veneziano begged. "Just one more day! Just one more time!"

"Didn't you hear Alfred, Veneziano? It isn't possible! You must go back to where you belong, _tomorrow_ ," Arthur snapped angrily. Alfred shot him a look, but Veneziano was already crying in earnest now.

"I d-don't kn-know w-what y-you m-m-mean!" Veneziano wailed. Matthew walked over to him and pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back as Veny hiccupped.

"Just calm down and listen, okay, Veny?" Matthew advised softly. Veneziano nodded and hugged Matthew tightly. He always felt better when someone was hugging him.

"Veneziano, your real name is Feliciano Vargas, and you are the heir and prince of Alia," Arthur told him. Veneziano felt his eyes widen in surprise. Arthur continued, a low buzzing that Veneziano could barely comprehend. "Your twin brother, though the elder, is betrothed to the heir of Roha, so the throne will pass to you. Tomorrow, you will return to the castle and your own betrothal will be announced along with your twin brother's. You were sent to live with us as a baby for your protection. Tomorrow, the curse on you both will be lifted and you can take your place in safety."

"Y-You… you're giving me back… just like that?" Veneziano whispered. Matthew felt him pull away, so he stepped back, his own violent eyes shiny with tears.

"Veneziano, they are your real family. You've always had to go back," Matthew said sadly.

"All this time… you've lied to m-me and n-now… n-now that it's t-time, you're just going to forget all ab-bout me and I d-don't even have a choice?" Veneziano summed up, tears falling down his cheeks. "I thought w-we w-were family! That you l-love m-me like I love you!" Veneziano sobbed. Alfred stepped forward, his face twisted in pain. Veneziano cried out and ran away, sobbing wildly. The distant sound of his bedroom door slamming echoed in the tiny cottage.

"Great job, _Arthur_ , couldn't you have handled that better?" Alfred yelled angrily, tears in his own eyes. He paused, seeing the unusual sheen of Arthur's emerald gaze.

"It wouldn't do any good babying him. He's the bloody heir of a kingdom. There was no other damn way to tell him," Arthur muttered, rubbing at the corner of his eye with the heel of his palm. "Got something in my eye," he mumbled. His eyes widened as Alfred pulled him into a hug and pressed his face against Arthur's neck.

"It's okay to cry, Artie. We're all going to miss him. We all love him, too," Alfred murmured as Matthew joined in the hug. Arthur sighed and let his head rest on the top of Matthew's head.

_~ In the Alian Palace ~_

Lovino was not happy.

He was watching the castle run around in frantic circles. The florist didn't have enough roses there, the baker didn't have enough flour there, the caterer didn't have enough shrimp here or there. Lovino dropped his head onto his hand and turned his golden gaze to the window. He was sitting on his backless stool, leaning on his father's throne, waiting for what everyone else was waiting for.

The illustrious return of his twin brother, Feliciano.

He didn't remember him, obviously. He didn't even know Feliciano was still alive until last night at dinner. He had heard Feliciano's name mentioned, seen the desperately sad looks on his parents' faces when they remembered their long-lost baby, but Lovino had always thought Feliciano was dead. All this time, his own _twin_ was out there, alive, and no one had told him. Once, when he was very young, Lovino had overheard his nurse telling another maid that Lovino would grow up to be an evil boy, and that his brother was gone because of him. When he heard that, so long ago, he thought he had killed his brother somehow and that's why his parents looked at him with those sad eyes. He thought all these years he had been competing against a ghost. He wasn't stupid, you know. He knew that his parents were constantly measuring him against the brother they never got to see grow up. If Feliciano was still around, would he like the same foods Lovino liked, would he refuse to eat the same things, throw a temper tantrum when he didn't get what he wanted, refuse to be a knight (though he enjoyed fencing, being a knight seemed like way too much work), would he frown as much as Lovino, would he say dirty words, or yell at visiting monarchs when they looked at him funny? Lovino didn't mean to be lazy, or cruel, or crass. He just was. He used to try to be different, but he always messed up. He was clumsy and, being a prince, never really had to try to be different. His betrothed spoiled him rotten but was too busy to actually be around very often. His parents could barely stand to look at him because they were reminded of the other boy they had lost. So Lovino had been stuck between being given everything he ever wanted whenever he asked, and never being given enough from the people who mattered most to him.

And now the very reason he was this way was on his way back. Lovino wondered absently if it would get easier, now that the ghost was no longer a ghost. Surely a flesh and blood person would be less perfect than the conjured ghost. Maybe the bastard would have a harelip. Or a limp. Maybe he would fat. Maybe he would laugh like a donkey and spit when he talked. Anything, _anything_ , less than perfect would make Lovino feel better. He looked up as movement entered his peripheral vision. His heart thundered in his ears, but he managed to ignore it. Antonio, his Rohan prince and betrothed, was standing next to his chair, looking worried and absent. Lovino kicked Antonio shin lightly to get his attention.

"Why are you so late?" Lovino demanded, his mouth turning down into a pout. Antonio blinked and then smiled down at him.

"Gilbert apparently forgot to mention to Ludwig these past sixteen years that he was betrothed. Their parents died when Ludwig was only six and Gilbert, being Gilbert, completely forgot about this important detail. Ludwig and him are still yelling at each other," Antonio explained, kneeling beside Lovino and stroking Lovino's brown hair. Lovino fought the urge to purr.

"That's weird. That stupid potato-head always does what Gilbert tells him to do. He's all about duty and honor and shit like that," Lovino blushed as the vulgar word left his mouth, but Antonio only chuckled and grabbed the stray curl that always stood out no matter how much Lovino tried to flatten it. _Nobody_ touched that curl, well, except Antonio. Lovino sighed and felt his body automatically relax. He loved it when Antonio paid attention to him like this and played with his hair.

"Yes, well, Ludwig apparently met some pretty boy in the forest and wants to go see him today. Gilbert told him no because Feliciano is coming back and Feliciano is his betrothed," Antonio's hand paused. "Ah~ Your parents are finally here. Are you ready to meet your baby brother, _mi corazon_?"

"No."

Antonio laughed and got to his feet. Lovino followed Antonio's graceful, fluid movements with his eyes. No matter what he did, Antonio always seemed to be dancing. It took Lovino's breath away to watch him. Not that he ever bloody admitted that. But it felt good, watching Antonio walk/dance to his parents, greet them so cheerfully, and know that soon, _soon damn it_ , they would finally be married. Antonio was all his, had always been his, and would always be his. So Lovino watched Antonio spread his cheerfulness around like Lovino couldn't and waited patiently for the day Antonio had to stop treating Lovino like a little kid and treat him like a lover.

His parents walked up the dais, smiling at whatever Antonio was saying. They were looking so damned happy. No matter what he had done as a child, he had never made them light up like this. He knew they loved him. He _knew_ they did, he was sure of it, but that stupid ghost had always been hovering between them. Maybe now that Feliciano was coming back, they could love Lovino better? One could only hope. He nodded to them and turned his gaze back to the window behind the thrones, careful not to lean on his father's throne this time. There was a commotion at the doors and his parents snapped to attention, both waiting breathlessly. Even Antonio had a look of anticipation on his face as he returned to Lovino's side. Lovino did his best to keep his face as emotionless as possible. Whoever this Feliciano was, Lovino vowed he would have to _work_ at being Lovino's brother since he had ruined Lovino's life so far. Thank God Antonio had never compared Lovino to that damned ghost, or wished for Feliciano to be there. No, Antonio had been the only one who wanted Lovino and only Lovino. He decided the little smirk that formed on his face would be okay to show.

At the doors, four people were led in. Three of four were blond, with varying shades of light colored eyes. Two of the blonds were tall and the younger one carried a sword on his belt. The tallest blond had nothing on him, but an aura of power seemed to exude from his tall, muscled frame. His aura was nothing compared to the tiny, frowning blond next to him though. This one had to be the Great Faerie, Arthur. He seemed to be floating off the ground, though he was walking briskly. Behind them was the only brunette. As they neared the throne, sunlight from outside caught in the brunette's hair and it blazed dark red. His hair was the same auburn as Lovino's mother. Lovino felt his mouth dry.

"We return to you your son, Feliciano Vargas," Arthur announced. He stepped to the side, closer to the two other blonds. The taller, blue-eyed man placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezed gently. But Lovino only had eyes for the brunette. For Feliciano, the ghost-become-flesh.

Feliciano flinched at the name and looked up in fear. He looked up to the four people standing above him. The woman had tears running down her beautiful face, his hands clasped in front of her smiling lips, just like Feliciano did when _he_ was really happy. How strange. The man with the dark brown beard was clearing his throat, eyes dark with tears as well, though he hadn't let them fall. They really did look happy, and looked like him, this king and queen that were his supposed parents. So where was- Ah, his twin. A young man with bright gold eyes was staring at inscrutably, a tiny smirk hovering on his lips. His twin, while looking very much like Feliciano, was still very different. He was beautiful in a much more dangerous way than Feliciano was. He was awestruck by him; his oak brown hair, his golden eyes, his elegant posture and sharp, delicate features. His clothes were so beautiful, too. Feliciano had always liked pretty clothes and his twin wore them so well. He glanced up at the man standing next to his twin and figured that this dark, chocolate-colored man must be the Rohan prince. Brilliant green eyes were gazing at him curiously, a welcoming, cheerful smile playing his full lips. Yes, his brother and his betrothed made a beautiful couple, light and dark, beautiful and gorgeous. Feliciano felt his own heart break.

What if he never saw his own knight again? His handsome, blond prince with eyes as blue as the sky?

He bowed to the king and queen, then to his twin and the Rohan prince. "It is good to meet you," he said, at loss for anything in particular to say.

The queen made a sound like laughter and a sob at the same time. She got to her feet and stumbled down the dais to throw her arms around Feliciano. "My darling, my baby, you've come home at last! Ve~"

Ah, is that where he got it from? How strange that he inherited so many things from a woman he never remembered. But the smell of her was familiar and peaceful, her embrace soft and kind. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, letting the emotions that flooded the little corner of the room affect him. Maybe these people weren't his family now, but they would be.

"We should go," Alfred said, his voice rather strained.

Feliciano tensed, fear and hurt flooding him. _So soon_?

"No, no! You must stay for the dinner tonight!" the queen exclaimed, pulling away to wipe away her tears. "I'm sure Feliciano would appreciate it, yes, my son?" Feliciano nodded quickly.

"We don't wish to intrude," Matthew said softly, though he looked grateful.

"Not at all. You've been his family all this time. This must be hard you, right, son?" the king asked, getting to his feet, his voice steady and firm, though his gold eyes twinkled.

" _S-Si_ ," Feliciano whispered. The queen smiled softly.

"We'll have forever to become a family again, my dear. Please, you three, never feel unwelcome here. You protected our baby for us. We could never repay you," Lucrezia pleaded warmly. The blonds all smiled, though Arthur was quick to tamp his down.

"Thank you, your Majesties," Arthur replied with a flawless bow.

"I think it's time the brothers meet, _no_?" the Rohan prince said.

" _Antonio_ ," the prince hissed. Antonio only laughed and pulled him to his feet.

"Come, Lovi, _mi corazon_ , don't be shy," Antonio teased. Lovino was pushed into front of Feliciano, face beet-red and pouting. His gold eyes fell to the floor at Feliciano's feet.

"Not shy," he muttered.

"Is your name Lovi? My name is Venezi- Ah, _Feliciano_ , I think. Ve~ So confusing. We look a little alike, don't we? But you're so much more beautiful than I am," Feliciano said cheerfully. Lovino looked at him, bewildered, and then smirked a little.

"Well, of course I am. Your clothes are ridiculous. The first thing you need is new clothes. I have some old ones you might like," Lovino offered graciously. Lovino actually didn't have old clothes, he gave them away when he wore them more than twice, but Feliciano didn't need to know that.

"Ve~ So nice! Thank you, big brother!" Feliciano exclaimed happily. Lovino blushed brightly. _Big brother, huh?_

"Stupid, we're twins," Lovino snapped. Feliciano smiled stupidly.

"But you're still older, right? Ve~ You seem older than me, you know so much, I bet, living here in the castle. You will be my big brother, won't you?"

 _You know, maybe this won't be so bad,_ Lovino decided. He let a tiny smile curve his lips. "Yeah, you can call me that. Do you like tomatoes with your pasta?"

"Of course!"

"Well, at least your taste isn't uncivilized," Lovino approved. He let out a squawk of indignation as Feliciano threw himself at him in an almost painful hug. "Leggo! Hey, don't touch me!"

"Ve~ But I love to hug!" Feliciano nuzzled Lovino's face, since they were pretty much the same height, making Lovino blush tomato red. He lapsed into senseless gurgling noises.

"We should probably go to dinner. Gilbert and his brother will be here soon for the betrothal party. Supper will be just after sundown and we'll be having just a small, intimate party and some dancing. You should get to know your betrothed as well, ve~" Lucrezia told Feliciano.

Feliciano's eyes opened wide, brown eyes finally revealing themselves. Lovino felt his breath catch. _Whoa, Feliciano actually was really pretty with his eyes opened. He looked pretty cute before, but kinda stupid. He is definitely a Vargas_ , Lovino acceded. He was still better looking than Feliciano, but at least he wouldn't be ashamed to acknowledge him now. Lovino turned to Antonio to ask what he thought, but felt his tongue tie in knots.

Antonio was staring at Feliciano and _blushing_. He didn't even notice Lovino looking at him, or the gentle touch of Lovino's hand on his arm. Something black surged in Lovino's gut.

"…can't we just wait on the betrothed…" Feliciano was saying. Lovino couldn't really hear him through the roaring in his ears though. Antonio wasn't supposed to look at anyone like that but _him_.

Antonio seemed to break out of his trance and then smiled down at Lovino's frowning face. "What is it, _mi carino_? You look so angry, you should be happy that cute, little Feli is back home, _no_?"

Lovino was already seething. His anger was more than just anger, it was _pain_. He knew it. It was bad enough his parents were so gooey and happy over Feliciano, but now Antonio? Antonio looking at Feliciano like he was beautiful? _Cute, little Feli_ \- the cheating bastard was already giving his twin nicknames!

"C-Chigi!" With all his strength, he kicked Antonio in the shin, chest heaving and gold eyes flashing. Antonio fell to the ground, grabbing his shin and gritting his teeth. "I _hate_ you!" he screamed. With that, he ran from the room.

"W-Wait, Lovi- Ow! What was that?" Antonio moaned as Alfred fell to his knees next to the Rohan.

"Just hold still. I'm still an apprentice, but I'm better at healing spells than Arthur," Alfred ordered.

"W-What was that! You bloody git, how dare you-"

"I am so sorry about this. We never know what will upset Lovino. He's has such a temper, but normally Antonio… I've never seen him so angry with Antonio. He's always been so calm around Antonio, ever since he was a baby," Lucrezia tried to apologize and wonder what was going at the same time.

"Maybe it was the fatuously besotted look on Antonio's face?" Arthur snapped angrily. "If you don't recall, Ivan's curse included _jealousy_. A ridiculous, almost uncontrollable jealousy. Please tell me you haven't done anything to instill that jealousy towards Venez- Feliciano in Lovino," Arthur said dryly.

Antonio frowned, as the king and queen looked at each other.

"I don't think so. We've already treated Lovino well. As he grew up, he became difficult to understand, but we never mentioned Feliciano until last night," the king answered.

"No, Arthur is right. Lovino has felt inferior to Feliciano for a long time. Che~ What have I done? I only thought for a second " _que bonito_ " and he managed to see?" Antonio slapped a head to his forehead. He hissed and then looked down at his leg. The bruise was gone and it felt perfectly fine. "That is much better, _mi amigo_ ," he said to Alfred.

"It's the curse. I knew we should've waited till after the damn birthday," Arthur growled.

"Has anyone seen Veny?" Matthew suddenly asked. Everyone silenced and looked around. Sure enough, Feliciano was gone.

"SHIT!" Arthur screamed. "He must have followed Lovino! That bleeding bloody damn heart of his! Where would he have gone? You, wanker on the floor, _where is he_?" Arthur demanded, pointing in Antonio's face. Antonio blinked.

"When he's angry, I normally find him near the tailor's quarters. He says pretty clothes make him feel better," Antonio answered without thinking.

 _With the spindle of a spinning wheel_ \- "Arthur, it'll just be sleep, he won't be dead!" Alfred shouted, grabbing Arthur's shoulders and shaking him back to reality.

"That's only if my magic was enough, Alfred. What if it's not?" Arthur retorted, green eyes locking with blue.

"It'll be enough, stupid," Alfred smiled softly. "Let's go make sure, though." Arthur nodded. They all hurried after Antonio towards the tailor's quarters.

_~ With the brothers ~_

Feliciano was gasping as he ran up the stairs after Lovino. He thought, being the brother grown up outside in the sunshine and wilderness, he'd have more stamina. That wasn't the case. Lovino was more accustomed to running up and down the stairs, so he was able to leave Feliciano pretty far behind. Feliciano wheezed and heard a strange sound coming from a room up ahead. Lovino must be in there. Feliciano made it to the door and peered in.

Lovino was standing in the middle of a room full of the strangest things Feliciano had ever seen. These things had two wheels, one smaller than the other, but the wheels were on top, instead of on bottom. He wondered why. Wheels were normally on the bottom of wagons and carts, who ever heard of a cart with the wheels on top? He entered the room quietly, his eyes back on Lovino. When Lovino had kicked Antonio, Feliciano had noticed the look in his brother's eyes. He looked like he was about to cry, like someone had broken a promise. Feliciano was pretty sure he had that same look in his eyes when Arthur-papa told him he was really Feliciano Vargas, not Veneziano Kirkland.

"Lovi~" Feliciano started, hand outstretched.

He hadn't realized how quietly he had approached. Lovino had been too busy trying not to cry, yelling at himself for overreacting to a simple, five-second long _look_ , that he hadn't heard Feliciano's soft footsteps. With a gasp, he spun around, the spindle he had grabbed slashing out. It was just a spindle. A simple thing Lovino had often picked up to twist the thread around and around to calm his nerves or temper. But when it smacked against Feliciano hand, the sharp point of it dug into Feliciano's index finger. Blood welled and slipped over the white wool thread, staining it red.

"Ow~" Feliciano whispered. Then, he collapsed at Lovino's feet, face deathly pale.

The spindle clattered to the ground and Lovino's eyes widened in fear and shock. He fell to his knees at Feliciano's side. "F-Feliciano? Feliciano, it was just a little prick. Feliciano, come on, we have to get you a bandage. Feliciano! Feliciano! Wake up! This isn't funny!" Lovino shouted, shaking Feliciano as hard as he could. The sound of loud footsteps made Lovino look up, tears of panic and desperation on his face. "Antonio! Antonio, help me!" He cried out.

" _Mi corazon!_ " And Antonio was there, breathing hard and flushed.

"He won't wake up! It was just a spindle, Antonio! I didn't- It wasn't my fault! I swear, please believe me!" Lovino begged, his hands curled into fists, clutching as Feliciano's clothes. For some reason, his eyes were getting heavy, his limbs numb.

"Lovi, it's okay, I-I beli _eve_ _you_ ," Antonio yawned as he knelt next to Lovino. His hand was on Lovino's face as they both fell to the ground, eyes closed in peaceful slumber.

In the doorway, Arthur sighed in relief. "My counter-spell is working. Where are the king and queen?" Alfred and Matthew walked up as Arthur turned to them.

"We stuffed them through the door down the hall a ways when they passed out. All those heavy clothes of theirs made them kinda slow." Alfred shrugged.

"We should make them more comfortable," Matthew said with a slight frown. "I don't know where the visitor's rooms are…"

"Screw it. There's a cot in that room over there. Shove those two idiots on it and we'll take Feliciano to the tower room. No one should be up there," Arthur ordered. Matthew shrugged and easily picked up both Antonio and Lovino. Alfred lifted Feliciano up into his arms, his own fears over when he felt Feliciano's soft breathing.

"What are you going to do, Artie?"

" _Arthur._ I'm going to find his true love, damn it."

_~ In the forest ~_

Ludwig had managed it, thank God. It had taken crude, brute force, but he had punched his brother in the solar plexus and ran out of there. There was no way he was going to get caught in his brother's idiotic politics. He did what was asked of him, he did his duty without hesitation or questions, and he had done ever since he was seven years old. He had grown stronger, taller, and healthier, driven by the idea that someone out there had the other half of his heart and he had to protect that person. He couldn't remember when or why he got this idea, but he did. And that other person was _Veneziano_ , not some long-lost prince. Beautiful, cheerful Veneziano. Veneziano even had his cross pendant. He knew it was his. It had his name on it in the Beilreich script. Somehow, Veneziano had gotten that cross and Ludwig knew that Veneziano was the one he was supposed to be with. His mother had told him that on her deathbed: _"Don't forget, my son, the one who you must protect… the one with your Beilreich cross… you must grow strong and protect him, like you promised."_

Those words had haunted him for years, until the other day, in the sunshine with the most beautiful boy underneath him, laughing and wearing the very cross he had given away as a child.

Ludwig stomped up the creek bed, water splashing around his boots. His mare, Gerta, was right behind him. The tree limbs had been too low for him to ride. He sighed in relief seeing the thinning of the trees ahead. The cottage must be there. He walked into the clearing and, sure enough, a tiny cottage was there, framed by two large oak trees and with an empty laundry line next to it. Ludwig frowned. For a birthday party, the cottage was rather quiet and dark. In fact, it looked… deserted. He stepped forward, brows lowering. There was blinding flash of light and Ludwig threw his arm up to shield his face as Gerta reared high on her hind legs, whinnying loudly. He barely managed to keep ahold of her. Blinking the spots from his eyes, he squinted at the cottage.

In front of him, a tiny blond man with big, black, bushy brows and brilliant green eyes was standing and glaring at him. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was sneering at Ludwig. Then, he blinked. His jaw dropped and his hand raised a slim index finger in Ludwig's face.

" _You_? You're the man Veneziano met yesterday?" the little blond man demanded. Ludwig blinked slowly, still rather blind.

"Yes, I am. You are either Arthur-papa or Alfred-papa. I have only honorable-"

"Oh, well, this is bloody fantastic! All along it was you! Of course it was! You're the same little brat that from that day! The sick little brat with the necklace! You know, Veneziano _never took that damn thing off?_ He almost died once when he got the damn thing stuck in a tree twenty feet above the ground!"

"Excuse me, but I have no idea what you're talking about," Ludwig said slowly, wondering why Veneziano didn't mention one of his father's being _insane_.

"Oh, never bloody mind. You have to go wake him up," Arthur growled, running his hand through his hair and setting his other hand on his hip. "Bloody Fate, you are always mocking me."

"Wake who up? Where is Veneziano?" Ludwig forced himself to say as politely as possible. He was about ready to throttle this tiny man.

"That's what I'm telling you, idiot! You need to go back to the castle and wake Feliciano up!"

Ludwig's narrowed his eyes, one eyebrow twitching as the blood pounded in his head. How the hell did this man know about his "supposed" fiancée? And why did he need to wake him up? "Look, Arthur or Alfred, whoever you are, I don't want to be with Feliciano. I want to be with Veneziano. Maybe you have a problem with that, but I could care less. I am marrying Veneziano whether you like it or not."

"Oh, bravo," Arthur rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed with this declaration. "Well, blockhead, if you want Veneziano so badly, you'll have to do what I say. Go back to the bloody castle, go to the highest tower, and you'll find Veneziano. If you don't go, you'll never see him again because he'll never be able to wake up without you." With that, Arthur disappeared in another equally blinding flash.

Ludwig was left blinking, half-blind, completely baffled, and _very, very_ angry. There was nothing to do but swing up into the saddle and ride back as fast as possible to where he had just come from, low-hanging branches be damned. He growled under his breath and kicked Gerta into a gallop. If he ever saw that tiny, bushy-browed bastard again, Ludwig vowed to punch _him_ in the solar plexus, too. _This day was turning out to be the worst day ever_.

When Ludwig rode back into the castle court yard, his brows lowered again. People were lying around the courtyard in little heaps, some guards still clutching their spears. He swung off his horse and led her into the stables. His worry grew seeing that even the horses were asleep. They didn't so much as lift their heads as Ludwig tied Gerta into her stall and hurriedly took off her saddle. Even as worried as he was, he made sure she was rubbed down properly and had water and oats before walking back out into the courtyard. He made his way up to castle, finding only sleeping people. None woke as he passed. He found his brother not far from the guest wing. Apparently, he had regained consciousness and had tried to follow Ludwig, which meant whatever happened here happened shortly after he left. He kicked Gilbert's thigh for good measure and then continued on. He didn't think he would wake up, but it was good to make sure. Very pragmatic, if he said so himself.

In a short while, he was in the tower, winding his way up the stairs. This was ridiculous. Why would Veneziano be here? Was this some elaborate ploy on Gilbert's part to trick him into marrying the wrong boy? How did Gilbert know where to send that crazy, bushy-browed man, though? Ludwig grunted as he reached the top. He climbed stairs a lot, but these winding stairs were making him kind of dizzy. He pushed open the first door he came to, and froze. There, on a bed, with the window open and blowing in a cool, refreshing breeze, lay Veneziano. He was paler than Ludwig remembered, and a bandage was wrapped around one of his fingers. His hands were lying on his chest, and for a moment, Ludwig was scared he was dead. He exhaled sharply when he saw Veneziano's chest move.

He strode across the room and looked down, arms crossed over his chest. Weird. Why was Veneziano sleeping?

"Veneziano, wake up," Ludwig ordered sternly. Veneziano slept on, not even twitching. "VENEZIANO, wake up _this instant_ ," Ludwig bellowed.

Nothing.

Maybe he was dead. Ludwig gingerly felt the pulse at Veneziano neck. No… he was still breathing _and_ his heart was beating. So what was going on here?

Ludwig glared down at him, blue eyes baffled once more. His gaze fell on the iron cross that lay on his chest and he slowly sat down on the bed. Veneziano didn't seem to notice, but Ludwig was still hesitant as he reached for the pendant. He rubbed his thumb on the back of the cross and felt the words inscribed. It was definitely his name, which meant this was definitely his cross. But how did Veneziano get it? How did he know Veneziano? Why was his sleeping face so familiar, so lovely…? Ludwig smiled softly, watching as sunlight slid over Veneziano's face. He wished Veneziano would wake up though, and smile at him and laugh so joyfully. How could he love someone this much, this fiercely, after just an hour with them? He felt like he had known Veneziano all along, though. Maybe he did. He was the person he was because of _someone_. There had always been that promise, to protect someone dear to him, to become stronger for that dear person, and there was Veneziano, with his sunny smile and innocent laughter, wearing his iron cross and asking for kisses.

A kiss. Ludwig felt heat flood his face. But, well, Veneziano _was_ asleep and he looked so peaceful and beautiful lying there. Just one wouldn't hurt.

Ludwig raised a shaking hand and brushed auburn hair from Veneziano's forehead. He gently cupped the younger boy's face, his thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone. So smooth, so soft. Ludwig leaned over, cheeks still blushing, and gently pressed his lips to Veneziano's. He tasted sweet and soft. Ludwig's free hand covered Veneziano's and he pressed his lips harder to his. He had never kissed anyone before, but did people normally go from cold to warm so quickly? Ludwig felt Veneziano move beneath him, and suddenly Veneziano was kissing back, warm, supple mouth moving with his. Ludwig groaned softly and his fingers tangled in auburn hair.

"L-Luddy, you found me," Veneziano whispered against Ludwig's lips.

"I promised, didn't I?" Ludwig replied absently. Veneziano laughed. Ludwig grinned. Then, he kissed his sleeping beauty again, tasting the laughter and sunlight on Veneziano's lips.

_~ In a certain tiny room on a certain tiny cot ~_

Lovino blinked his eyes open. Why had he been asleep? Also, why was his bed so damn small and why was he so damn hot? He wriggled uncomfortably and then froze in shock when someone moaned. His eyes flicked up, golden gaze bewildered and slightly frightened. He relaxed seeing Antonio's peacefully slumbering face. Wait... why was _Antonio_ asleep? Lovino looked around, mind reeling. It looked like they were in one of the servant's quarters and they were sleeping on the tiniest damn cot Lovino had ever seen. Seriously, how could somebody sleep on these things? If Antonio wasn't pinning him down to the bed, his heavy arm on Lovino's waist, Lovino would have probably rolled off by now. Lovino was not a restful sleeper.

Lovino snuggled closer, his nose to Antonio's chest. It really wasn't _that_ hot. Besides, he rather liked this. Not that he would ever tell Antonio, because Antonio would probably want to sleep like this all the time and Lovino _liked_ having a huge bed to himself. But this time, well, it wasn't so bad. His eyes widened as Antonio's hand moved to settle on his hip.

He looked up, breath somewhere in his throat, to meet Antonio's sleepy, glorious, emerald eyes.

" _Mi amore_ , is this our wedding night?"

"Hell no! You think I would agree to a wedding night on this stupid little cot! Get up! I'm hot!" Lovino snapped as his face turned red. Blushing was not helping with this hot problem. He was getting kind of dizzy with it, actually. The dizziness had nothing to do with Antonio's thumb tracing circles on his hip.

"I don't think your brother is prettier than you," Antonio said suddenly, his gaze serious. Lovino felt the blood leave his face.

"How _dare_ you mention Feliciano while you're holding _me_? You really are stupid, you know that? I don't care _what_ you think. Go and marry my brother and see if I care. I'll… I'll marry Gilbert or something, he's kind of irritating, but he's not so bad looking-Chigi!" Lovino squeaked in surprise as Antonio suddenly rolled on top of him, eyes dark.

"You don't listen very well, _mi corazon_. I only mentioned your brother because you _kicked_ me for looking at him, if you don't remember. I want you to know that I want _you_. I always have. So shut up. If you ever threaten to marry Gilbert, I'll kill him and lock you away somewhere, got it?"

Lovino blinked up at him, mouth working soundlessly. He finally settled for nodding. Sometimes he forgot how much older Antonio was. To Lovino's sixteen, Antonio was already twenty-three, more than considered a man. When Antonio looked angry and dark-eyed like that, Lovino couldn't help but remember.

"You wouldn't really kill Gilbert, would you?" Lovino finally forced out. Antonio's dark gaze lightened as his usual sunny grin appeared. He leaned down, forehead on Lovino's, their noses barely touching.

"You wouldn't really marry him, would you?" Antonio replied. Lovino frowned. That didn't really answer his question.

"Of course I wouldn't, but you didn't-"

" _Mi corazon_ ," Antonio interrupted gently. Lovino glared at him. He really hated being interrupted. "I thought I said to shut up?"

Lovino definitely would have kneed Antonio in the gut, or head butted him, or bit him, and then stormed out the door, if Antonio hadn't completely taken advantage of Lovino's current position. Warm lips fell over Lovino's and large, calloused hands slid down his arms, his torso, to grip his hips almost painfully. A hot, damp tongue licking his lower lip made Lovino gasp and his whole body flush with that dizzying heat. Lovino decided mentally to let Antonio get away with it this time. If Antonio kissed him like this for the next couple hours, he might even forgive him. Maybe. Lovino wrapped his arms around Antonio's neck, pulled his prince charming down closer, and kissed back eagerly.

~Happily Ever After~


	3. Beauty and the Beast

Rose Petals

Alfred F. Jones didn't know if he was glad or disappointed to see dry land. The trip from the British Colony Of Quebec seemed to last forever, but it really lasted only two weeks. The wind was on their side and the weather remained bright and shining. He was itching to accomplish his self-inflicted task, but he loved sailing. The sheer endless sky and water. The sunsets on the empty horizon. Re-learning those long-ago sailing terms, navigation, and how to pull his own weight as a fellow sailor from when he was a child living on ships with his father. Mathilde, his stepmother, was seasick for most the trip and Matthew, his younger half-brother, wasn't sure how well he liked the endlessness of the sea as Alfred did. Alfred spent most of the trip with Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the captain of the little Spanish galleon. He was a tall, cheerful Spaniard with green eyes that always seemed to be smiling. Well, his _entire face_ was always smiling. He and Alfred hit it off pretty well. It was strange, though, at first, when Alfred met Lovino Vargas. Alfred had never met two male lovers. And he had never met two lovers so completely _opposite_. Antonio seemed happy, though, so Alfred shrugged it off since his Papa, Francis Bonnefoy did.

Alfred F. Jones had gone by his mother's name as long as he could remember. His father said he was his mother incarnate, a cowgirl from the Republic of Texas in the United States. She had gladly joined Alfred's father on his sea voyages, always eager for adventure and devoted to Francis. She had died just months after Alfred's birth at sea. Francis had never stopped loving the memory of Amelia Jones, which had resulted in a long standing, one-sided war between Alfred and Francis's second wife. Alfred had done what he could to do all Mathilde had asked, but it had taken years for her to come to terms with Alfred's dead mother. Now, Alfred was nineteen, six-feet tall, blond, and blue-eyed and Francis had come to terms with the lingering ghost of his wife as well.

In the past year, Francis had lost his entire fortune in a sea storm, gotten horribly ill, and been bedridden for months. Shortly after his illness had subsided and he'd begun to mend, his younger, frailer son had contracted his same illness and had been even more horribly degraded from it. Their poverty had done nothing to mitigate his sickness. They had barely struggled through a chilly Canadian autumn when a letter arrived. Francis's accountant and banker had found a large cache of wines and other merchandise preserved in Paris. Francis had gone ahead of his family to make sure he could sell the product. Luckily, their fortune had turned and Francis was able to re-instate his wine business. More modest and smaller than before, but it was better than the nothing they'd had recently. On his trip back from Paris, however, to collect his little family and bring them to their new home in Paris, he had been sidetracked in London. Stuck in London for a number of weeks, waiting for his ship back to Canada to arrive, Francis had ended up on a disastrous adventure.

What should have been a simple, easy trip had gone horribly wrong. All because of a single rose.

Alfred looked over at his brother. Matthew was leaning against a rail, breathing deep the cool sea air and looking pale, thin, and ill. This voyage had not been the best idea for Matthew. He was still recovering from his illness and the trip had only worsened his condition. Their father's plight had not helped. Alfred clenched his fist, frowning darkly. His brother, the least selfish, the most open-hearted, and most sincere person Alfred had ever met, should not have such a burden placed on him. And his father- his kind, silly, weary father- should not have had to choose between two equally terrible fates.

His story was incredulous- unbelievable, really. Who would ever think that his Papa would have gone on the wrong carriage in London and ended up in the middle of a blizzard in some unknown forest, just to find an enchanted castle smack dab in the middle? His father said it had been like walking into spring. The sunlight was warm and bright, the sky crystal clear and blue, and the castle grounds in full, riotous bloom. He said the lawns had stretched for miles, with golden pathways winding through parks of trees higher than buildings and the _gardens_. Francis had never seen or smelled anything so lovely. Every flower in the world seemed to be blooming, their fragrances richer and headier than he'd ever experienced. He was drunk on the scent when he found the roses – thousands upon thousands of roses of every color. Back home, while Mathilde had asked for fashion magazines and jewelry, and Alfred had asked for chocolates and sweets, Matthew had only asked for Francis's safe return. After much wheedling and teasing, Matthew had finally asked for a rose, laughing as his family smothered him with kisses and hugs. Francis, however, had not been able to find a rose blooming in Paris so late in the season. And here he was in some strange, magical garden filled with more roses than the eye could conceive, so why not just take one? The master had come out then, roaring and furious, ten feet tall with horns like a demon's and huge, sharp fangs, covered in thick fur. Huge paws had lifted Francis from the ground, fairly choking him, and claws rent his clothing with holes.

The price for the rose, the beast had growled, was Francis's life. When he had begged the master of the castle to at least let him send a message to his family of his death, the master had relented only long enough to ask why he had taken the rose. When Francis described Matthew, the master had changed his mind. It was Francis's life, or Matthew could return instead to be the master's companion.

Alfred was determined that neither of them suffer because of a selfish beast.

They lay anchor off the coast of England the next night after sighting land. Antonio didn't actually like going to England himself. He had more than enough disagreements with Brits to last a lifetime. He, instead, lent the Bonnefoy family a longboat. His first mate, a Dutchman who didn't speak much, rowed them to land. Alfred was expecting the strange rolling of the ground beneath him, remembering the experience from his childhood. Poor Matthew, however, had no idea what to expect. When they made it to the docks, Matthew tripped and fell heavily.

"Mattie! Are you all right?" Alfred cried out, rushing back to him.

"Yesh, 'm f'ne," Matthew tried to say as he stemmed the blood flowing from his nose.

"If you sound like Mr. Oxenstierna that means you're _not_ fine. C'mon, brother," Alfred retorted, making Matthew smile wanly. Alfred's boss while he worked as a carpenter back in the Canada had been notorious in their little town for his strange, mumbling, heavily-accented speech. Alfred helped Matthew to the carriage where their parents waited, concerned by the delay, and more concerned by the sight of Matthew's pale face and heavily bleeding nose and knees.

Alfred helped the Dutchman unload their luggage to move the process along faster, anxious to get to the tavern for Matthew's sake. The carriage ride to their rooms was thankfully short. Alfred was already on his feet, running towards the building, by the time Francis had climbed out of the carriage. Alfred called for dinner, water, and cloths for Matthew's bloody nose and knees, and sent a letter for his father to Zurich to summon the Swiss banker, Zwingli, and Beilschmidt, Papa's friend and business partner, to Paris. Matthew was sent directly to his shared room with Alfred to rest while Francis prepared Mathilde for the rest of the journey without him. The last leg of journey to Paris involved a short ferry ride to Calais, and then an overland carriage ride to Paris. Francis had told his family he would be returning to the Beast himself, therefore he had to make sure they could finish the journey without him.

Alfred spent the day keeping his eye on his parents and unpacking their things. Luckily for him, Francis had decided to postpone continuing their journeys until Matthew was well enough to travel once more. Matthew was so ill after the voyage and after his jarring fall on the docks that he slept most the day away. It wasn't until Alfred was laying out Matthew's clothes for the next day that the younger boy stirred.

"You feeling better, Mattie?" Alfred whispered as soon as he caught Matthew's purple gaze. He sat next to his brother and touched his forehead. He grinned. "Your fever's gone."

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "Alfred, I'm sorry for being a bother, no, don't interrupt. I know I'm a bother. Always tagging around after you, never being strong enough or fast enough. Sometimes, I don't even think I'm as smart as you, no matter what Mama says," he sighed. "I want to help, though. I want to be the hero for once. So I'm going to that monster's castle. You must promise to watch Papa tonight. You must keep him from leaving and protect him. Our family _needs_ him, eh?" Matthew's tremulous smile made something ache in Alfred's heart. On impulse, he leaned down and kissed Matthew's forehead, like Francis so often did.

"There's no need for that, Mattie. You rest and get better. It's a long trip to Paris yet," Alfred murmured as Matthew's eyes began to close wearily.

"Eh? A-Al, a-are you p-planning s-something?" Matthew stuttered tiredly, trying to force back a yawn.

Alfred looked down on his brother one last time, mentally tracing his features and memorizing every line and eyelash, even the way his hair fell. "I love you, Mattie," Alfred replied simply, his eyes oddly bright. Matthew was already asleep, his mouth turned down in a frown. Alfred got to his feet.

It took a matter of seconds to grab his already packed bag and sneak into his parents' room. Mathilde was still recovering from her seasickness, and Francis was still easily exhausted because of his recent illness. They barely even stirred when he slipped into the room and tiptoed to the bureau. Lying on the dresser was the rosebud. He still remembered the first moment Francis had pulled it out of his travel bag. It hadn't bloomed the slightest bit, but Alfred swore the fragrance, already heady, had gotten richer and stronger. Just like the first time he saw it in Francis's shaking hand, Alfred knew that the rose belonged to him. He couldn't say how he knew, but Matthew was the wrong one. Alfred was always meant for it. He picked it up, wincing as one of the thorns pricked his finger. He switched hands, careful of the thorns this time, and sucked on his finger to stem the blood.

He then shrugged, shoved the rose into his bag, and snuck back out the way he had come. Alfred stepped outside onto the curb, blue eyes darting around the heart of London, and realized he was stuck. Francis had never explained how to get to the castle. In fact, Alfred doubted his father even knew. He had slept through his travel to the castle and the journey back to London had been a confused, horrified blur. _If only that carriage would show up…_ Alfred blinked as a carriage rumbled up and stopped right in front of him even as his useless musings trailed off. The door swung open, revealing an empty, dark interior with forest-green velvet cushions and the faint smell of cigars. He looked up, eyes widening in shock when no driver was to be seen.

"Well, it must be the right one, then," Alfred muttered. He took a deep breath and swung into the carriage.

.

In the large, imposing castle, with its dark corridors and hidden rooms, a large beast paced. His tail whipped behind him in agitation and he was growling under his breath. His clothes were freshly pressed and pristine, though ludicrous on his monstrous form. His long, neatly filed toenails clicked on the wooden floor. The beast absently reminded himself to clip his nails and then paused before the roaring fire. The room he was waiting in so impatiently was huge. The ceiling was barely seen, high and lost in the darkness above, and the walls were filled with books of every size, color, and language imaginable. A few well-stuffed chairs were placed around the room and soft, beautifully patterned rugs lay on the highly polished floor. The monster avoided the rugs, though, as if to preserve them from his claws. He rubbed his ugly, frightening face with a huge paw, grumbling wordlessly. Encircling his shoulders were creatures that shone brightly against the dimmed light of the fireplace. They looked like tiny girls with brightly glowing wings of varying colors: purple, green, blue, red, pink, even orange. On the marble mantle above the fire, a mint-green bunny with tiny angel-like wings curled around a carriage clock, glittering black eyes watching the monster curiously.

"Arthur, the carriage will be back any moment. Don't worry so much," the little winged-bunny piped up suddenly.

"Yes, Flying Mint Bunny is correct. You'll worry yourself into a temper and make a bad impression if you don't calm down," the pink winged-girl advised, patting one of his curved horns.

"Look at me, Rosie! Just… look at me…" the beast trailed off. His voice was low, gruff, and very British in accent. It was a very clear, well-spoken sort of voice. He looked up at the Flying Mint Bunny and frowned, his face more terrifying than ever, though the little creature didn't quail. "Do not call me by that name, Flying Mint Bunny! I am the Beast. That's all I ever was…" he trailed off again, his gruff voice almost pained.

"Don't say that, dear," another faerie, the orange one, protested. "You are so much more than that- Oh!" The entire group of faeries quivered, the sound of trilling bells filling the room. Footsteps were coming from down the hall. A tall man entered, a hook for a hand, and bowed.

"Your guest, milord. It seems he has not your sight, like the Frenchman before," the man informed the group.

"Most people don't," the Beast shrugged. His briskly snapping tail betrayed his calm. "Thank you, Hook."

"Of course, milord." Hook withdrew. A few breathless moments later, the guest entered.

He was _not_ what the Beast was expecting. This boy was tall, taller than- well, taller than the Frenchman had been, with bright, excited blue eyes, and blond hair wild and spiky around his face. A single stray cowlick stood up from his forehead. His shoulders and chest were broad, his stomach flat under his thin linen shirt. He had taken off his coat, revealing a white shirt and brown vest. His thick, muscled arms showed below his rolled up sleeves. His longs legs were encased in strange blue material that the Beast had never seen before, but showed off the shape of his legs and slender waist very well. Shin-high boots were on his feet, pitted and shiny with use, barely making a sound on the wooden floor.

"Oh _my_ , Arthur, he's _gorgeous_. Look at those blue eyes!" the blue faerie gasped as the other faeries eagerly agreed. Flying Mint Bunny flew off the mantle and then around the man, sniffing curiously.

"He smells like pine trees. It's not so strong now, but I can still smell 'em. And the ocean! Arthur, he smells like the ocean!" Flying Mint Bunny cried out in delight.

"Heyo, I'm- uh, I'm here," the eager young man stumbled over his words before grinning a wide, boyishly innocent grin. He pulled around his bag and rummaged through it. Within seconds, he had freed the rose and was holding it out to the Beast. "I brought this back for you. You wanted it, right?"

The Beast stared at him, his mouth hanging open in shock. He quickly snapped his jaws shut and cleared his throat. "Y-You're… you're not what I expected," the Beast finally forced out.

Alfred grinned. He knew exactly what the monster-beast-man-thing was expecting. "Thanks!"

The Beast blinked down at his guest and the proffered flower. "The rose is yours, Matthew." He had repeated the name so many times in the past months that it was a relief to finally say it out loud.

Alfred grimaced. "Jones. Just call me Jones."

The Beast blinked again. The kid was going to think he had a tic at this rate. "I thought that frog's name was Bonnefoy?"

"Yeah, but my mother's name was Jones. I've always gone by Jones," Alfred explained with a shrug. He was a _really_ bad liar, so he figured he should be as honest as he could possibly be. He also _hated_ being called Matthew by this… beast. "What should I call you? Don't you have a name?" Alfred asked curiously, peering up towards the beast's shadowed face.

The Beast turned away, closing his eyes, breathing in sharply. "Just call me Beast," he replied shortly, his voice hoarse and low.

"All righty," Alfred agreed easily, slinging his hands in his denim pants' pockets.

"Arthur, you should take him to bed. It's getting late," the blue faerie urged.

"I don't think you worded that properly, Blue," a little elf under the table said.

"Of course I did! Just look at the boy! _I_ would take him to bed." All the faeries giggled, silver bells trilling on the air.

Alfred glanced around, confused. _Where are the bells at? I did just hear bells, right?_

Beast swatted at the blue faerie hovering around his ears. "Shut up," he grumbled.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. I will lead you to your _room_ now," Beast informed him, emphasizing the word "room" and making the faeries laugh again.

Alfred shook his head irritably. _Really! What is with the bells?_ "Okay, sure. I think I'm more tired than I thought I was." He grinned and scratched the back of his neck as Beast moved towards the fireplace.

"I'm surprised you aren't dead on your feet, Matthew-"

" _Jones_."

"Does that really matter so bloody much to you?" the Beast snapped angrily. Alfred looked back calmly, unflinching.

"Yes," Alfred replied firmly. Beast sighed.

"Fine! _Jones_ , I thought you were recently very ill. On the point of death, I believe your father said. You are remarkably chipper after such an arduous journey," Beast pointed out as he lifted a large candelabrum off the mantle.

"Well, you know what they say about the sea air, don't ya? I always feel better just looking at the ocean, ya know? I love it," he trailed off awkwardly chuckling, lying with the truth once again.

At this, Beast paused, shoulders slumping forward. He turned and looked directly into Alfred's eyes for the first time. Firelight and candlelight lit up that hideous, monstrous face, but Alfred was too astonished to notice the ugliness. Beautiful, vivid green eyes were meeting his. So vibrant green that they warred with the color of spring leaves and so strange in such a dark, wild, shaggy face like the Beast's. Alfred stared back, awestruck.

"Yes, I understand, Jones. I too… I too love the sea. I miss it like another would miss a limb," the Beast murmured lowly, his gaze breaking from Alfred's abruptly. His ears were low on his head, almost hidden by the horns, and Alfred was reminded of a lonely, heartbroken dog. Beast cleared his throat and gestured towards the door with a large, clawed paw. "Do you wish to retire now?"

"Retire from what?"

"I meant, do you wish to be led to your room!" the Beast growled, his snarky tone back in place. _This boy is a simpleton,_ thought the Beast.

" _Oh yeah!_ I would, thanks!"

"Well, at least he's nice to look at," quipped the red faerie. Beast flapped his free hand at the faeries once more and led the stupidly grinning Jones from the room.

"Hey, cool! You have a tail! I didn't notice that before!"

Beast gritted his teeth and rubbed his large, calloused paw over his face. _Bonnefoy must be a blind, stupid, doting father to describe Matthew like an angel when he's really a tactless idiot._

.

It had been a few weeks since Alfred had snuck away from home and came to live with the Beast. It really wasn't so bad. He always had enough to eat, which was a welcome change. He didn't have to chop down trees. He didn't have to bend uncomfortably over a workbench shaving and shaping wood for Mr. Oxenstierna's more complicated carpentry work. He was always warm. His clothes always fit. He also had been able to learn to ride a horse. Alfred thought "Unicorn" was a rather silly name for such a magnificent white mare, but she wasn't _his_ horse. Every afternoon, the Beast would walk with him through the never-wilting gardens and talk with him. At first, there really hadn't been much to talk about, since Alfred couldn't lie well and couldn't really talk without lying. In frustration, Beast had recommended books. Alfred knew _how_ to read, but had never seen anything useful about wasting his limited free time reading books. How wrong he had been.

Beast had given him books about sea voyages and highway robbers, knights and musketeers, about ancient treasures and civilizations, and had even begun to teach him Latin and German! They would stay up late at night discussing the amazing things and worlds hidden in those boring black and white pages. Surprisingly, he and the Beast enjoyed the same tale – King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Beast had given him every book on King Arthur, which led to Alfred learning to read French. He had only ever learned to speak it before. Recently, the Beast had done something that Alfred could never repay him for.

The Beast had given Alfred back his sight.

He had never been blind, God forbid. However, the world had slowly begun to lose focus years ago. He had struggled through it, ignoring his headaches and staying home at night. He knew his home so well he never really worried about getting lost, but he had often gotten into trouble when he had knocked things over because he simply had not seen them. He never knew that this painful debilitation could be fixed. He grinned thinking about that night he regained his sight as he swung Unicorn back around towards the stables that golden afternoon.

" _Why must you squirm so? We have only just begun reading! Don't sit so close to the fire, either! You'll set yourself ablaze!" Beast scolded, his tail lashing angrily. Alfred pouted, setting aside the book._

" _I don't feel like reading anymore. My head hurts," Alfred muttered. The Beast stared at him curiously while Alfred squirmed more beneath that vibrant green gaze._

" _A headache?" Beast repeated, getting to his arched feet awkwardly._

" _Yeah, a headache, so?" Alfred retorted._

" _Must you squint when you want to see far away?"_

" _No, I can see fine!" Alfred shouted, becoming red in the face._

" _Jones, answer me truthfully. Can you see this diamond brooch on my lapel from where you sit?" the Beast continued relentlessly._

" _Of course I can," Alfred grumbled, staring at the flagstones of the hearth, blushing brightly. God, he was a terrible liar._

" _I am not wearing a brooch, Jones," Beast told him gently. Alfred flinched. "Do not be ashamed. I have just what you need." There was a rustling and slamming of drawers from the desk._

" _New eyeballs?" Alfred spat defensively, curling around his torso and wrapping his arms around himself in embarrassment. The Beast chuckled, which only worsened his shame._

" _Not quite," the Beast rejoined easily. He made his way back to Alfred and squatted down, tail swishing easily around his bony, furry ankles. In his great paw was something that shimmered. Alfred looked up, blue eyes rather teary._

" _Whadda dose?" Alfred mumbled. The Beast rolled his eyes._

" _You speak the worst English I've ever heard. No matter. Your French is even worse. These are spectacles, Jones. They are special glass lenses that make it easier for you to see. Try them on," the Beast told him, his voice getting rather annoyed. Alfred gingerly took them and slipped them on after a few moments of examining them._

_Blue eyes widened and a delighted, startled grin broke over his face. He looked up into the Beast's face, clear for the first time. He had never been close enough to the Beast to make out distinct features. Now, he could see the golden fur glinting among a thousand shades of brown and black. He could see the vivid green so much more clearly, even the dancing golden flecks there and the darker green ring around his human-like pupils. He could see the bumps and ridges on the Beast's nose, the scratch along one elegantly curved horn. "I can see you, Beast," Alfred said in a vibrating sort of voice, amazed and more grateful than he'd ever been._

_The Beast stood up, towering over the young man sitting by the fire. "I am sorry your first clear image was one of me."_

" _Don't say that!" Alfred scrambled to his feet, holding the spectacles to his face to keep them from falling. "You gave these to me! It's because of you I can see! I can't ever thank you enough, Beast! I'm glad it was you!" He grinned as the Beast stared at him, shocked. "One day, maybe, I can see the ocean again. With you."_

" _Don't be ridiculous. We are both trapped in this castle forever!" the Beast stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Alfred stared at the still-quivering door, his smile now regretful._

" _Why do you always get so angry, Beast?" Alfred asked the thin air._

Alfred swung down from Unicorn, patting her neck in thanks. He didn't have to worry about bridle or saddle since she wore neither and he never missed them, obviously. As he rubbed down her flanks and checked for stones or burrs (not that she ever seemed to get any, oddly), he thought again about his only companion.

Why was the Beast always angry? Why did he walk on two legs and wear men's clothing? Why was he trapped in this castle? Why did he never eat with Alfred? Alfred _hated_ eating alone. The only times the Beast ever joined him during a meal, he just sat there watching Alfred eat in silence. It was kind of creepy, really. Just what was the Beast hiding? And why did Alfred's rose never die? Instead, the rose was blooming.

He looked up at the sound of bells. He still had no idea why he heard bells _everywhere_ , but usually the Beast accompanied them. Sure enough, he saw the Beast's hulking form walking past the entrance of the stables, moving towards the gardens. Alfred quickly put away the brushes and cloths to race after the retreating figure.

"Hey, Beast! Wait up!"

The Beast turned and waited patiently for Alfred to approach him. "Yes, Jones?"

"You're going to the gardens, right? I'll go, too! Like always, ya know?"

"Er… yes…" the Beast stared down at the cheerfully whistling blond in confusion. "Do you really enjoy these walks with me?"

"Well, yeah. I hate being alone, you know," Alfred laughed. The Beast's tail lashed irritably.

"If you're with me just because you're bored, I'd rather walk alone," the Beast snapped.

"Huh? But didn't you want me to come so you wouldn't be lonely anymore?" Alfred asked with an innocent tilt of his head. The Beast turned his face away, wanting to smack himself. "But, you know, it's not just because I'm bored. I like walking with you because you talk to me. You talk about all kinds of things! Things I never knew existed, things I've never thought about and you make me think about them! You teach me things and every day I learn something new. If there were a hundred people here, I would choose to talk to you," Alfred told him with that stupidly happy grin.

"I doubt it," the Beast retorted bluntly. "I would be the only monster and you would never come near me."

"I don't see why not. Back home in Canada, I never really talked much to other people. My boss was always quiet and only really grunted now and then, so we didn't really _talk_ much, ya know. I normally played with the animals outside and with my brother. One time there was this bear, right, and I- well, my _brother_ , wrestled it right down to the ground! Then, the bear would come and play with us all the time! You're just like a bear really! Only with a better tail and some really awesome horns! You should let me touch 'em!"

"NO, _I should not_!" the Beast bellowed, flustered, as Alfred laughed. "I am _not_ a bear, either! I'm a _monster_. Besides, _you_ aren't your brother. Do you really think you could wrestle me or a bear?"

Alfred opened his mouth and quickly shut it. The Beast smirked, triumphant and annoying with it. Alfred wished he could pick Beast up and throw him over that tall hedge like he dearly wished, but knew that would give away him and his lie. "It doesn't change the fact you're not like anyway else I know," Alfred muttered, sulking. He hated losing an argument. "I wish you would talk with me more, you know. I wish you would tell me about why you love the sea."

The Beast paused and looked down at Alfred. The American stopped as well, turning his sulky, pouting face upwards. "Do you really wish to know more about me?"

"Yeah! Of course I do!" Alfred eagerly exclaimed, his blue eyes as bright as the sky above them, his ill-humor gone as if it had never been.

The Beast's heart squeezed in his chest, as if a hand were clenched around it tightly; an uncomfortable, yet warm emotion. He wanted to touch that bright cheerfulness, pull it into himself, feel that blind, beautiful optimism. He raised his arm, and then let it drop, his eyes catching sight of his massive, ugly paw. He would mar that shining, innocent beauty, tear it with his hideous, violent claws, smother it with his dark, greedy soul. He stepped back, but not away.

"If you truly wish to know… I was a pirate," the Beast started jarringly. Alfred's eyes widened.

"A pirate? But how could- You weren't always a beast, were you? You were just like me once-"

"I was _never_ like you! I was always a monster!" the Beast interrupted in a terrible, ferocious voice. He stormed away yet again, leaving Alfred in the garden.

Alfred watched him go, frowning, baffled. He rubbed his hair and then grinned. "A pirate? How awesome~"

.

They were sitting in the library again. For once, it was a rainy day. A warm one that had neither rattling wind nor torrents of rain pelting the windows. Just a refreshing, warm sort of rain that made the garden smell even lovelier and the colors outside even brighter. Alfred sat at the window, his chin rested on his hand, his elbow propped up on his knee, and an open book lay on his other thigh. He stared out the glass, smiling absently, enjoying his view like he hadn't since he was a boy. Even months later, he couldn't believe how clear his eyesight had become. Behind him, the Beast was sitting at his desk. Normally, he would be reading. Maybe drawing. At this moment, however, he had a much better occupation.

Looking at his new ward.

No, Jones was nothing like he imagined. He was loud, annoying, rather stupid at times, and oblivious. He couldn't read the atmosphere to save his own skin. He was childish and ate too damned much. Yet, he was beautiful. Bright. Fearless. Kind. He spent hours outside playing with animals. Here, in this utopia, many of the wild animals had become rather domesticated. Jones seemed to teach them how to be wild again: deer ran faster to keep up with him, eagles flew higher, called out louder to match Jones's own exuberant shouting and leaping, wolves wrestled and bit and snarled more fiercely, just to escape from Jones's rough-and-tumble play. He was always laughing. The faeries were obsessed, constantly following him around, laughing at his antics, 'oo'ing at his physique when he stripped off his shirt after romping in the sunlight all morning. Flying Mint Bunny would cuddle on Beast's wide shoulders and together they would watch Jones play and laugh like no one had done in all the years they'd been here.

Alfred turned suddenly, a smile still on his face. He had wondered what Beast was up to, hoping he could sneak a peek at the large creature. Where others would be frightened, Alfred was only curious. He froze, seeing Beast's eyes already on him. Both looked away, Alfred blushing slightly, the Beast grumbling under his breath.

"H-Hey… Beast?"

"What?" Beast snarled, embarrassed at having been caught staring at the other.

"I have a question that's been bugging me," Alfred said slowly. At Beast's silence, he continued. "Why do I keep hearing bells?"

"Pardon?" Beast looked towards Jones, confused. The younger blond bit his lip and then grinned a moment later.

"I guess it's kinda stupid, huh? But I keep hearing bells, ya know? And then I wonder where they're coming from. Then, I start wondering where anything is coming from. Why is it always sunny? It's supposed to be summer, but it's still like spring out there. Well, it's rainy now, but normally it's sunny. And who makes our food? Who makes my bed and cleans my clothes? It's just… sometimes I forget all about how weird it is, being here. Then, these questions pop up and I get all confused again." Alfred chuckled ruefully.

"I wonder why you didn't ask sooner, personally. Obviously, it's magic," Beast said curtly, slapping his book shut. "We shall leave it at that."

"So… you're really alone here?" Alfred pressed, sitting up quickly.

"I didn't say that. There are… others here. Most people cannot see them. I have always been able to see them, however, which makes this damned place bearable," Beast answered.

"If you weren't alone, then why did you ask my Papa to send me here?" Alfred asked curiously.

Beast stood and strode around the desk. "I cannot tell you."

"Can't or won't?" Alfred returned, his face turning red. "You expect me to live here with you for the rest of my life and you won't even tell me why! How is that fair?" He jumped to his feet, his long legs taking him to the Beast. He glared up into Beast's terrifying face, unperturbed by the growing anger there.

"Life isn't fair! You made your choice, Matthew-"

"JONES! STOP CALLING ME MATTHEW!" Alfred bellowed.

"OF ALL THE- What does it matter what I call you! I know your name! I OWN YOU!"

"YOU'RE A BASTARD!"

"You're just realizing this? I'm a bloody _monster_!"

"You're not a monster! You're just an _ass_! You're a lonely, miserable _prat_ and it's all your damn fault!" Alfred threw up his hands and spun around, arms crossed over his chest. "You won't even _eat_ with me! You make everyone else around you miserable because _you_ are, and well, guess what? It won't work with me! I _refuse_ to be miserable!"

The Beast wrenched his mouth shut, swallowing his angry retort. "How does that make any sense? Of course I'm a monster. Just _look at me_ , Jones."

"It doesn't matter what you look like, idiot," Alfred looked over his shoulder, a pout on his face again. "A monster would've eaten me by now. You're just a prick."

The Beast threw back his head and laughed, really _laughed_. Startled, Alfred's arms dropped to his sides, his frown melting away. His shoulders shook, his mouth twitching, but he had never been one for self-control. He gave in easily, gratefully, laughing along with Beast, clutching his ribs and curling around his torso. Finally, the laughter ebbed and they looked at each other, chuckling, smiling.

"Why don't you eat with me, anyway?" Alfred finally broke the comfortable silence. The Beast looked away, eyes downcast. Alfred tilted his head to side. Beast looked rather… embarrassed.

"I'm… I'm an atrocious eater in this body. See these paws? They're for ripping apart _cows_ , not holding a fork or spoon. I make a horrible mess and a complete bloody fool of myself. I prefer to eat alone," Beast replied in a low, subdued voice. Alfred laughed again.

"Haven't you noticed the way I eat? I'm a slob, too! I don't care about things like that, Beast! I would much rather eat with you than eat alone. I also would like it if you ate with me because when you just stare at me, it's creepy!"

"Pardon _me_ , you little brat, for _attempting_ decorum," Beast rolled his eyes.

"What's decorum?" Beast stared at Jones's cheerfully stupid face in bafflement.

"Never mind, Jones," Beast sighed. He rubbed his face and then looked at Jones from under his paw. "Why do you insist I call you Jones?"

"What's your real name?" Alfred asked easily, smirking. Beast narrowed his emerald eyes. "When you tell me who you really are, what's really going on here, you can call me by _my_ first name. Deal?"

"… Deal," Beast reluctantly gave in. His eyes widened as Jones held out his hand. Gingerly, he took Jones's hand in his. It was so much stronger than Best expected and gripped his much larger palm firmly. Warmth. Contact. It sent fire rushing through him, almost like lightning, making him gasp. At the same time, both pulled away, eyes wide. Beast abruptly turned towards the door, heart thudding like a drum in his massive chest. Behind him, Alfred stood with his hand clenched in a fist before his heart. Blue eyes watched the Beast's figure lumber away, a lost look in their shining depth. For the first time in his nineteen years of life, Alfred felt his heart _yearn_.

.

Months turned slowly, then quickly, then slowly. It was funny that way, time. Some days were sluggish, crawling forward until Alfred wanted to tear out his hair in frustration. Other days went by too quickly, and Alfred was left wishing that sunset could last longer. It was strange how right it felt staying here, in this enchanted paradise, with the Beast. With Beast. Beast who sipped tea from delicate porcelain cups. Who talked with magical creatures Alfred couldn't see. Who read books by turning fragile pages with the very tips of his claws oh-so-carefully. Who argued over stupid things, got angry too easily, and never told Alfred his secret. Whose carefree laughter was rare and made Alfred's heart pound when he heard it. Who watched the sunset with the same silent reverie as Alfred, looking West towards the horizon, towards the endless ocean, with longing.

Alfred couldn't understand how he could be so content. He was caged. He was trapped. There were boundaries and gates and a promise he couldn't break. Yet, he was happy with Beast. He laughed every day and looked forward to every moment with this strange, lonely man-creature. He often wondered what kind of man the Beast would be like, used to be? What kind of man fit those beautiful green eyes? If Beast were a man, would he be allowed to touch him then? Would he be able to hold his hand, throw his arms around him, kiss his face like he used to with his brother and father? Ever since that handshake, and the instant spine-tingling awareness it awoke, Alfred hadn't be able to stop thinking about it. He didn't even really care about the Beast's form now. If Beast would allow it, Alfred would pet him, stroke his furry head and cuddle with him on the floor in front of the fire at nights. Alfred liked contact. Had always liked it. Probably because of his overly-touchy Papa. He missed it – felt bereft without it. The more he got to know the Beast, the closer he wanted to be. He hated the distance and the lies and the secrets between them.

One morning, though, something exciting happened. Alfred woke and outside was a world of bright white. The trees were still leafy and green, but covered in a thin film of shining ice. The garden was dusted like cake and the lawns were covered in at least a foot of fluffy, beautiful snow. Alfred leapt from his bed and leaned against his window, blue eyes wide, lips stretched in a delighted smile. He _loved_ snow. He turned, seeing movement form the corner of his eye. Was that… a winged, green bunny? Alfred blinked, his smile dimming slightly, until the sounds of loud footsteps made him turn.

The door slammed open and the Beast stood there panting, wide, hairy chest heaving.

"What have you done?" Beast choked out, green eyes wild. Alfred looked at him, perplexed. The Beast made a gurgling noise as he took in the sight of Alfred standing at the window, all six feet of tanned, perfectly-muscled him on display. "YOU'RE NAKED!"

"I always sleep this way," Alfred replied with a shrug. He rubbed the back of his head nonchalantly, on hand on his hip. "Whatcha talkin' bout anyway? I didn't do nothing." Torn between embarrassment and horror at such _disgusting_ grammar, Beast only stuttered stupidly. Alfred grinned suddenly. "Hey! We should go outside and play! I haven't had a good snowball fight in ages!"

"J-Jolly g-good, then…" Beast stammered out. He backed out of the room rapidly as Jones walked over to his wardrobe, completely unaware of the little elf girl staring up at him or the dancing faeries in his room. Beast hissed angrily and the little magical beings darted out of the room. The faeries were giggling madly and Alfred was glancing around the room, blue eyes baffled and annoyed. He still hadn't figured out where the bells were coming from. Beast slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

"Oh, Arthur~ Did you _see_ him? He's gorgeous!" the pink faerie sighed in rapture.

"All that muscle! And he's so tall! _That's_ a human I'd become mortal for. In a heartbeat," the blue faerie agreed heartily.

"We should steal him away for a hundred years. _We'd_ appreciate him better than this old pirate," the red faerie said with a jerk of her head towards the still gasping Beast.

"You will do no such thing!" Beast snapped. The faeries giggled again.

"I think he saw me, Arthur," Flying Mint Bunny piped up as he landed on Beast's shoulder. "He looked right at me and then he heard you coming and looked away. I think… I think your curse is _breaking_ ," FMB whispered.

A hush fell over them.

"Then, the snow…" the little elf girl began before trailing off.

"The eternity is ending," the orange faerie finished.

Beast covered his face, hiding the terror building in his green eyes. "I don't think… I don't think this will work. This was a bad idea."

"Arthur, this is the only way. It'll work out," FMB assured him, licking his furry cheek gently.

"And if it doesn't? What then, Flying Mint Bunny? What then?" Beast shot back, his terror angering him. He stepped into the hallway, pacing in agitation.

"HEY! You're still waiting here?" Jones laughed brightly, throwing open the door and staring up at the Beast. "You didn't have to wait, you know!"

Beast gazed down into that cheerful, grinning face, the spectacles he gave him falling down Jones's nose, that silly cowlick standing straight up. Sunlight filled the doorway behind him and made his blond hair gleam like newly polished gold. Bright blue eyes looked back so innocently, so happily up into his face, with no trace of fear. Beast's shoulders slumped and he sighed, a strange, awkward, self-mocking smirk on his face. Jones's grin grew in response.

"Shall we break our fast together, then, Jones?"

"Yeah! I think! Are you talking about eating?"

Beast couldn't remember a day he had _fun_. It had been so long. They had eaten a quick, ridiculously huge breakfast, and Beast could barely keep up with Jones on his way outside. They had jumped and ran through the snow, letting it crunch and crack beneath their feet. Jones made sloppy snow angels and convinced Beast to help him make a huge snow bear. Snowmen were overrated, he said. They couldn't get the face right, and in the end accidentally broke off its head. It resulted in a screaming match, both blaming the other, until Jones grabbed a handful of snow and threw it with all his might at Beast's face. Amazed at such a powerful throw and Jones's exuberant laughter, Beast did the first thing that popped into his head. He threw snow back. They spent at least two hours in a snowball fight. Neither admitted defeat, so they settled it as a truce when they collapsed from exhaustion and cold. After a lunch brought out to them by a morose, yet non-man-eating hag cook, they tramped through the knee-high snow (for Jones), enjoying the winter wonderland and feeding birds. Every now and then, Beast saw Jones's eyes follow the brightly colored glow of a faerie as they flittered around them, or glance towards Flying Mint Bunny as the little creature glided lazily along by Beast's shoulder. He hid the rising joy and hope. Maybe… maybe it would work out…

They walked towards the castle together, Jones whistling, as the sun began to set. He stopped his annoying, endearing habit and glanced up at the Beast when they reached the steps. "Hey, Beast?"

"Yes, Jones?" He stamped his paws to get the clinging snow off. Jones followed suit rather absently.

"Why did it snow today?"

The Beast paused. He looked down at Jones's curious face, the last rays of the sun falling over his spectacles and hiding his blue eyes from the Beast's sight. "Because of you."

"Is that a bad thing?" Jones queried, frowning slightly.

"No. I hope not, Jones. It could be something amazing," Beast whispered, his gaze intent on Jones's face. Jones looked away, still frowning, the glare slipping from his lenses.

"I'm glad I came. I'm glad I met you, Beast. I had fun today. I've had fun every day since coming here. I wish I could see the world, that I could sail again, one day, but I wouldn't mind spending those days with you, either, I think," Jones said slowly, making the Beast's heart squeeze painfully, his breath catching. "In a room of a thousand people, I would choose you, Beast, because you're different from everyone else. Besides, you'd have the most space around you! Who likes crowds?" Jones laughed, ending his rather serious and uncharacteristic speech.

"Jones… I'm… I'm glad you came, too," the Beast replied hoarsely, staring off to the side. He shuffled a bit as Jones looked up at him again, surprised. "I knew… I knew when your father described you, that you would be the one… the one who wouldn't fear me. That maybe… you could… you could _like_ a monster like me. These past months… they've been unlike anything… you are unlike anyone…" he trailed off, stumbling over his words.

He didn't see Alfred's bitter smile. _No, you're wrong, Beast. It never could have been Matthew. Maybe he would have liked you, he likes everyone, but he would have been scared of you. He might have pitied you. He never would have been brave enough to yell back, to argue, to feel like your equal, not like I can. It was always supposed to be me, Alfred F. Jones, you idiot._

"Don't be stupid, Beast. I'm just like everybody else. You just don't get out much, ya know? You aren't such a monster. You're just really annoying!" Alfred laughed boisterously, the way he knew irritated Beast the most. It didn't fail this time.

"Prat! I was trying to explain myself!"

"Pfft. I could barely understand you with all that mumbling. C'mon, let's get dinner." Alfred walked through the waiting open front doors, heedless of his muddy boot tracks.

" _Jones._ " Alfred paused at that exasperated tone. "I had something I wanted to ask you."

"Yeah?" He hoped the quiver in his voice wasn't noticeable.

"Do you… Can you dance?" the Beast finally forced out. Alfred looked over his shoulder and Beast squirmed.

"My Papa is French. He forced me to learn how to dance," Alfred replied blankly. "Why?"

"Would you… Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? Properly? As in... wearing gentlemen's clothing for once…maybe ending with music and dancing… I'm not asking properly," the Beast cursed under his breath.

"Yeah. Yeah, Beast. I would," Alfred answered quickly, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Oh, really? Right then. Good," Beast replied, taken aback by Alfred's swift response.

"Dinner, right?" Alfred pointed in the general direction of the dining room, shivering slightly.

"Right. Sorry," the Beast hurried into the castle, following Alfred down the corridors to their waiting supper.

.

The Beast was nervously waiting for Jones in the main hallway the next evening. For an entire day, Jones had hidden away from sight. It wasn't exactly what Beast had intended when he invited the young man for dinner. He hadn't liked it the least bit. It was so strange to have his library all to himself, without even Jones's distant laughter outside to keep him company. He had no idea what Jones had been up to, and he was impatient to finally see him. He paced restlessly, looking up at the staircase every now and then. He was dressed in his very best clothes; red velvet coat, pristine white cravat, a beautiful golden brooch shaped like two crossed sabers with tiny emerald hilts, and black satin breeches. He ran his paw over his velvet coat, wishing he could feel the sensation of it better. He missed the feeling of velvet and silk on his skin. He glanced up, eyes widening, as feet pounded down the stairs.

Jones rushed into view, almost tumbling around the corner of the upper staircase. He slammed into the railing, gasping aloud, almost tumbling over the side. Beast was halfway up the staircase as Jones caught himself and laughed.

"I thought I was late! I'm sorry! I was looking forward to this all day and I'm late!" Jones laughed, face bright red and cheerfully grinning.

Beast looked up at him, frowning slightly. "You're going to hurt yourself running on the stairs like that."

"You worry too much. I'm fine!" Jones bounded down and stopped a few steps above Beast, fists on his hips. "How do I look? They didn't fit right at first, but now they fit perfectly! Kinda uncomfortable, though, I've never had clothes like these before."

 _Elves,_ Beast thought to himself as he took in the sight. Jones was made for blue. That dark blue coat over a grey- and darker-blue-striped shirt, and tight fawn-colored breeches made his blond hair seem golden and his blue eyes glow behind the lenses of his spectacles. He tugged at the lapels of his coat, frowning a bit, looking embarrassed, uncomfortable, and shy. His cuffs were undone. He was missing his cravat. He was wearing his same scruffy, old boots.

The Beast smiled just the smallest bit, hiding his smirk behind a paw. "You are missing a few articles of clothing, but you'll do. Not half bad, actually, Jones," Beast quipped. Jones stuck out his tongue, cheeks still pink. _How like him,_ Beast thought as he held out his huge paw, wincing inwardly at its appearance. But Jones merely set his hand in it, grinning, holding on with his powerful grip.

"I haven't held hands with anyone since I was a kid. I used to hold my brother's to make sure he didn't fall down," Jones told him as they walked down the stairs.

"And later he becomes a brother that wrestles bears. Life is strange sometimes," the Beast joked.

Alfred looked away, chuckling awkwardly with the Beast. Everything had begun so well and just moments into it, he got slapped in the face with his lie. The lie that was beginning to eat away at him, making his stomach churn with guilt when he met the Beast's green eyes. The main reason Alfred hadn't met with the Beast earlier that day was because he had been awake all the night before, pacing and biting his nails and arguing mentally with himself. He hadn't been able to settle down for sleep until the sun had already begun to rise, and even then, his sleep had been light, unrestful, and easily broken. He wanted to tell Beast the truth; who he really was, and why he had done it. He wanted the truth from the Beast, so he should make the first step.

But he was scared. Terrified. At first, he had been optimistic. Of course Beast would understand why. It made total sense, really. Then, the idea popped into his head: what if Beast _didn't_ understand? What if he got angry? What if he was hurt by it? What if… what if he _hated_ Alfred because of it? The idea of the Beast hating him, never laughing or joking or talking with him had sent pain so intense through Alfred's heart he hadn't been able to breathe. Without the Beast, without his friendship, what kind of life would be left to Alfred? He would be trapped in this castle for the rest of his life, a true cage, without the Beast as his friend. When he was younger, and Mathilde had been at her cruelest, she would lock him in a closet without light for hours to punish him. He hadn't been the most well-behaved child, that's true, but he had never been punished like that by Francis. He was used to the border-less spaces of the forests and the never ending skies of the sea. Being trapped in that dark, tiny room had scarred him more than any whipping would have. That's what this castle would be like without the Beast's friendship.

No, that wasn't quite right. Even if he left the castle, he would be trapped. A part of him would always stay here with the memories of these past months at the Beast's side. Somehow, the Beast had become more important than the world outside, than the adventures he could be having, than the family he had left behind. Listening to the Beast laugh, watching him trying not to smile, talking with him late at night, reading with him in the afternoons, they had all become such special times to him. He couldn't think of life without Beast. _That's_ what the pain was. The idea of the Beast never being in his life because of that stupid lie terrified him more than the cage he usually forgot he was in. What should have been his prison was his freedom. Sure, he still wished he could travel and see the world and sail the seven seas again, but without Beast… it just wouldn't be the same.

"Um… Beast? There's… there's something I need to…" Alfred trailed off as they stepped into the ballroom, blue eyes wide. He looked up, lips parted in surprise, to see the Beast looking down at him, green eyes apprehensive and hopeful.

"Do you like it, Jones?"

"Y-Yes," Alfred breathed out, turning back to the room to gaze at it again.

It was unlike anything Alfred had ever seen. Candles were floating in the air, shimmering and golden, without any stands or wires or strings to hold them aloft. The ballroom, which he had only peeked into once, was surrounded on all sides by huge, wall-sized mirrors, so the candles were reflected back everywhere he looked. He stepped into the room, releasing the Beast's paw, glancing around him, pivoting on his heel as a wide grin formed. It was like he was spinning through stars. The only wall not made of mirrors was instead made of huge glass doors that opened onto a balcony that led down into the gardens. The slightly chill air wafted in from outside, bringing with it the thousands of scents of flowers, most strongly those of the roses. Music was playing suddenly, beautiful music unlike anything Alfred had ever heard. His head turned abruptly as more little lights floated in, bringing with them the chimes of bells. Around him they danced and laughed and Alfred finally saw the little faerie girls as they plucked at his blonde hair and pinched his ears and nose. He laughed aloud, spinning, and almost drunk on it all.

It really was all magic.

"Jones," the Beast's rumbling voice interrupted. Alfred looked over him, grinning, face lit up by the faerie lights. "Dinner is waiting."

"Oh, yeah! I can't believe I almost forgot about the food!" He all but bounded up to the Beast's side, easily gripping his paw again, unafraid of the long claws. "This is amazing, Beast!"

"Arthur."

"Huh?"

"My name. My name was… Arthur."

Alfred stared up at the Beast, letting the tall man-creature lead his blind feet to the food. A small table at the edge of the ballroom was set up for them. A tall, lean man with curly black hair and a shiny hook for a hand bowed and pulled back their chairs for them. Alfred sat down, mumbling a thanks, and stared at the empty tablecloth before him. "Like the king," he said suddenly.

"Yes."

"Like _our_ king."

"Yes, Jones."

"So you _were_ a man once," Alfred whispered.

"That I cannot say. There are… there are many factors at stake, Jones, that you cannot possibly understand and that I cannot explain. For now, my name is Arthur."

They worked their way through chicken and lemon sage soup. Through salad with beets and carrots, which Alfred gave the Beast his beets, and the Beast gave him his carrots, both laughing. They ate rare roast beef, scalloped potatoes, peas and white onions, then a huge slice of chocolate cake for Alfred, with heavy whipped cream and strawberry sauce over it all. With it was chilled champagne, which Alfred had never before tasted. He wasn't sure he liked it, but it was sweet and he liked the bubbles. Through it all, Alfred avoided the Beast's name, his heart hammering every time their eyes met, every time the conversation paused. They talked about books, about the faeries, about dragons and unicorns, about flying machines and ships, about everything but the Beast's name. A small elf with a saucy wink took away their plates and the music, which had continued to play quietly, picked up volume. The Beast stood, extended his paw once more.

"Jones, would you dance with me?"

"Y-Yeah," Alfred stammered, getting to his feet.

They walked side by side to the center of the ballroom, to the center of their own starlit night sky. Alfred stumbled a bit, but the Beast led him easily through the steps of a waltz, chuckling as Alfred blushed. He felt hot all over, he was sure his face was flushed, and he felt kinda dizzy. It was probably that champagne, but it might be the way the Beast had his paw on his waist. Or maybe it was the way he could hear the Beast's heart beating, steady, sure, strong. Maybe it was the way the Beast eyes glowed like dark emeralds when Alfred looked up into them. He didn't know how long they danced, but he didn't really feel tired. The music stopped, eventually, and the Beast led him out onto the balcony. They perched on the balcony's stone railing, side by side, gazing over the moon-washed garden. Alfred shuddered slightly. The Beast shifted, causing Alfred to look over at him and blink in surprise as the Beast dropped his coat over Alfred's shoulders. Alfred fingered the crimson velvet lapels, bemused, before raising his head and grinning up at the Beast.

"Thanks."

"I have a lot of fur. I don't get cold as easily as you do," the Beast mumbled, his ears flat behind his horns. They descended into silence, staring at the gardens again. "Jones. I wonder… I wonder if… you're happy here?"

Alfred blinked, staring up at the Beast's profile. "Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, that is, you never asked to come here. The decision… well, it wasn't much of a choice. I wonder if… if you could possibly forgive me for it? If there's anything… anything I could do for you, anything I could give you, ask it, Jones, and I will do it," the Beast said, turning to him, green eyes boring into Alfred's.

Was it so strange that Alfred's first thought wasn't "free me"? Instead, his mind was blank. _Was_ there anything more he could ask for? Didn't he have everything he wanted, here, with the Beast? In fact, he _did_ choose to come here. He hadn't had to come in place of his brother and father. He hadn't been forced to be the "hero." He just did. His eyes widened at the thought and he knew what he wanted.

"Beast, I like it here. I _am_ happy with you. I do wish though… I wish I could see my family one more time. I want to make sure they're all right. My brother had been sick and I just want to make sure they're all healthy and happy," Alfred finally decided. "I guess that's impossible, though," he sighed. The Beast cleared his throat.

"Actually, it is _not_ impossible. You are in an enchanted castle," he waved a large paw, signaling a few of the faeries to leave. As Jones looked towards the faeries, frowning with confusion, the Beast was gazing down at him. There was something… strange… something he couldn't quite put his toe on wasn't right. The faeries returned quickly, carrying a small silver mirror. He took it, trying to clear his own perplexed frown away. "Breathe on the mirror's surface and ask for whatever you wish to see. The mirror will show it to you."

"Really?" Alfred gasped, clutching the mirror in his hands, afraid to drop it. At the Beast's nod, Alfred did as instructed. "I wanna… I wish to see my family, uh, please?" He flinched as the mirror lit up. Blinking rapidly, he stared down into the clearing surface, blue eyes eager.

In the mirror, four people were sitting in a room. A blonde woman was pouring coffee into cups, smiling up at the man the Beast recognized as Bonnefoy. He was laughing and talking to another man with pale silver hair and reddish eyes. Next to the silver-haired man sat a boy that looked almost exactly like Jones. His hair was longer and wavier, like Bonnefoy's, and he was obviously younger by a number of years, but his features were so like Jones it was eerie. He looked up, almost directly at them, smiling sadly, eyes a beautiful violet.

"C-Can I hear them, Beast? Is there anyway?"

"Y-Yes, go ahead and ask the mirror," the Beast stammered as the _something_ came back. That purple-eyed boy with his sad smile looked thin and pale, like a recovering invalid. In fact, as he reached for his coffee, the silver-haired man quickly placed his hands under the boy's, laughing as the boy blushed.

"… still shake so. Thank you, Mr. Beilschmidt" the boy's voice was saying, making Jones cry out in delight.

"That boat ride and then the trip in the carriage over France was a stupid idea so soon after your illness. Francis, what the hell were you thinking, huh?" Beilschmidt continued on before Francis could answer. "Besides, how many times do I have to tell you, huh? It's _Gilbert_. Call me Gilbert, Mattie."

Alfred's heart stopped.

_Mattie._

The name hung between them. The conversation continued on, much to Alfred's numb horror. _Not like this, no, why? Why like this? How could I have been so stupid?_

"Y-yes, b-but… I wish… I wish you wouldn't call me that, Mr- I mean, G-Gilbert. Alfred always used to call me that and… and I miss him so much more when you call me that."

"I'm sorry, Matti- Matthew. It's just I like calling you Mattie. Besides, it's not as if Alfred's dead, _ja_? Maybe he'll wrestle that monster like he did those bears you were telling me about. Hell, he could be on his way home now," Gilbert said, laughing, clapping Matthew's back as tears sprung in Matthew's eyes.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry. I must… I must go now."

"Wait! Hey, wha'd I do? Hey, Francis, tell me!"

"You know how _Mathieu_ feels about Alfred. Alfred left to save Matthew's life and my own. He feels guilty every day that Alfred is gone," Francis whispered, looking guilty and sad himself. Mathilde gripped his hand, tears on her lashes.

"Stop it. TURN IT OFF!" Alfred screamed, hands shaking. The screen went black. And still the silence stretched on. He looked up, the shaking in his hands now all over him. The Beast wasn't looking at him, but at his huge, clawed paws. "B-Beast? Hey, Beast, look at me. Lemme explai-"

"There's nothing to explain. You sacrificed yourself for your brother. All this time… it's all been a lie. All this time you've been laughing at me. You were always the stronger brother. You could've overpowered me at any time and left but you stayed… you stayed because… maybe you pitied me. Or maybe you stayed because of honor. No matter the reason, you've been lying to me," the Beast murmured, making Alfred's heart thud painfully.

"No, you're wrong, Beast. That's not why I stayed. I've never laughed at you! I just wanted to save my brother. You saw him! Even now he's still weak. All my life I've protected my little brother. I couldn't let him come here! He could've died and I refused to let my brother be a prisoner to a monster if I could stop it!" Alfred yelled, trying to get the Beast to see. He realized too late the words he used were the wrong ones.

"Then you leave! Get out, _Alfred Jones!_ Your services are no longer required! There's no longer a need for you to be my prisoner, a _monster's_ prisoner!" The Beast spat jumping to his feet.

Alfred had never seen the Beast look more terrifying as he loomed at his full height, dark and shining in the moonlight. Alfred got to his feet as well, gripping the mirror tightly as his blood boiled. "AND WHAT ABOUT YOU, HUH, _ARTHUR_?" he yelled back with all his might, refusing to be cowed. It felt good to unleash himself again. No more holding back, no more lying about his strength. "You've kept secrets from me, too! How could I trust you if you never trusted me? You were only a monster because I didn't know you! You told my Papa you would _kill_ him for a stupid rose! How was supposed to know you wouldn't do different with Matthew? I _love_ my brother! Maybe if you knew what love and trust were, you would understand!" Alfred accused, blue eyes burning. "You stay here in your tiny magic world and look down on everyone for thinking you're a monster, but you only ever act like one!"

"I never needed people! I've never needed love or trust! Because all people are the same! They lie and deceive and steal and hate! You're just like all of them! You're just like everybody else, Jones! Get out of my bloody castle and never come back!"

With an angry, powerful motion of his arm, Alfred threw down the mirror. Shards flew in every direction, glimmering like chips of ice and silver. Their breeches tore, a few shards caught in the Beast thick fur, and one rather jagged piece flew up and cut Alfred's cheek. Blood trailed down his face as his mouth trembled.

"What was the point?" he whispered.

He turned and ran, rubbing his face with his fist, knocking his glasses askew. Behind him the Beast slumped on the stone railing, the faeries fluttering around him, as he stared at the broken magic mirror on the ground. Alfred made it to his room within moments, tearing off his clothes before the door shut behind him. He was struggling into his old clothes, hands still shaking, when something flew past his face. He let out a cry of surprise, stumbled backwards, and fell heavily to his bum. Above him on the windowsill next to his half-bloomed rose sat a little green creature.

"I'm Flying Mint Bunny," the creature told him in a perky, happy sort of voice.

"Yeah, so?" Alfred rubbed at his face, frowning when he saw the blood staining his shirt cuff. "I'm leaving. I'm sure the whole palace heard it."

"Well, yes. I don't really blame you, though," Flying Mint Bunny said as it settled its wings comfortably on its back. "About lying, anyway. You were saving your brother. He _was_ rather nasty to your father."

"Thanks," Alfred said tersely. He grabbed his jacket and shoved his feet in his boots.

"Oh, Alfred, your rose," Flying Mint Bunny called out as he went for the door. Alfred paused, looking back. That damn rose had started it all. He should just leave it there to rot (however long that took). He was already halfway across the room when he realized he couldn't do that. He picked up, turning it slowly between his fingers. "Al, when you get home to your family, don't forget about this rose. There's more to this place than you think. There's more to Arthur than even he admits. Can I tell you a story?"

Alfred nodded mutely. "Once, there was a British pirate. He wasn't in it for the gold, it was the adventure he really loved. He went to China and India and Africa and the New World, everywhere he could possibly go, he went. But he started getting bored. He became obsessed with treasure, thinking if the world couldn't fill up his boredom, then the gold must. But the more gold he gained, the worse it got. He became vicious, glorying in fighting and battles and blood, thinking that the next fight, the next battle, would finally end his boredom one way or another. It wasn't until he captured a small Greek boy that he realized what he was missing. He was _lonely_. But he already covered in blood, already ashamed of his deeds, and he thought he could never go back. One day, completely on accident, the little Greek boy that showed him what loneliness meant, died," Flying Mint Bunny paused, button black eyes closed in pain. Alfred's blue eyes widened.

"The boy died?"

"Yes, Alfred, by the pirate's own blade. When the Greek boy's guardian, a Turkish pirate, heard of the boy's death, he searched all over the Ottoman Empire and finally found a Roma, a gypsy, wizard that agreed to place a curse on the pirate. For atonement, the pirate was cursed to live forever as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. Twisted, bitter, and loathsome is how the pirate perceived himself, so that is what he became. A monster. He hid himself away from the world and entrusted his treasure to his men. He found out just years later that his crew had divided the gold they could find and disappeared. For fifty years, the monster has hidden himself away, betrayed by his only companions, with the death of an innocent boy on his soul."

"Will… will he always be a monster?" Alfred muttered, gripping the rose so hard the thorns were beginning to dig into his skin.

"There's a way to break the curse, but if it doesn't work… he will die."

Alfred looked up, aghast. "He'll die?" Flying Mint Bunny suddenly flew up into the air.

"There's nothing more you can do here, Alfred, if you feel you must go. But please, think about the pirate when you see the rose," the bunny pleaded softly before dipping from the room.

Alfred stared at the rose in his hand, mouth twisted to the side. With a jerk, he got to his feet.

.

It had taken a mere three weeks to get to Paris. For one so eager to travel, Alfred hadn't taken in an inch of the way. Everything was a blur; a tangled mass of color and shapes as if he had taken off his spectacles. He hadn't regained his focus until Matthew, bright, beautiful, happy Matthew, had thrown himself into Alfred's arms, crying in joy. Francis and Mathilde had quickly followed, until they were a crying, hugging mass of arms and shining blond hair. Beilschmidt had watched them with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest.

Alfred had spent his first day being coddled, fed, and tucked into a warm, clean bed with Matthew tucked up against him as if they were children again. The next day, he had woken early and his lethargy overcame him again. The world was melting into blurs again, even his family losing focus. Only Matthew remained bright and discernible. He had finally broken down and told him about his nine months with the Beast, trying to recall those vibrant, happy days, but it was like trying to hold onto water. The longer he was away from the Beast, the harder it was to remember him. Sometimes he forgot how tall he was, or what tea he drank, what books he read, what his voice sounded like, even the color of his eyes was becoming harder to picture. He gave him a terse, sketchy outline before abruptly getting to his feet and leaving the room. As the days dragged on, one blur of color into the next, Alfred spent most of his hours in his bedroom, a book open on his leg as he perched up on the windowsill, staring at the rose blooming on his desk. The scent had begun to fade with his memories.

Matthew knocked lightly on the door one afternoon, a tray of food in his hands. At the silence, Matthew peeked in and sighed. Once again, Alfred was sitting at the window, book on his lap, spectacles dangling from his fingers.

"Al, it's past lunch. You should eat, eh?"

"I'm not very hungry. I just ate," Alfred said tonelessly.

"Alfred, you haven't eaten since breakfast. You didn't even eat very much then," Matthew demurred quietly. Alfred blinked over at him.

"Really? I could've sworn I just ate. If you say so, Mattie." Alfred didn't move. Matthew set the tray on the desk.

"Alfred, what happened? What did that beast do to make you this way?"

"He didn't do anything. I don't remember him doing anything. He just… told me to leave," Alfred shrugged.

"Then, why are you acting this way? You're acting like someone… like someone tore the light out of you! You used to be so strong, so happy and cheerful! No matter what happened, you were always smiling! I wish I had gone instead! I wish I would've died, rather than see you like this!"

"He wouldn't have killed you, Mattie. He wanted a friend. He was lonely. Even with the bells and flying bunnies, he was alone there. I was his first friend, the first one he trusted and… and I let him down," Alfred covered his face with his hand. "I should've told him sooner. What was I thinking?"

"Al, why are you so upset? He was a monst-"

"HE WASN'T! HE WASN'T A MONSTER!" Alfred bellowed, on his feet and red in the face. "He was my _friend!_ Don't you understand? He was… He was my _friend_ , Mattie. I was _happy_. I know I was. I know it," he whispered, staring down at the spectacles. Slowly, a smile formed. "He gave me new eyeballs."

"Al," Matthew began slowly. "How could you have been happy trapped like that? You were his prisoner."

"I know I was, but after a while, I didn't feel like one. Being with him was an adventure. He took me to so many different worlds just by handing me a book. I could see again because he handed me spectacles. I could make him laugh. We would argue and I wanted to pitch him over the balcony, but in the end, we always ended up laughing. I miss it," Alfred's smile was bitter as he spoke.

"Do you miss _it_ , or miss _him_ , Al? Sometimes… sometimes I think you fell in love and don't even realize it. You act like you have a broken heart," Matthew asked, his voice rather bemused.

Alfred's eyes widened. "L-Love? In love with Beast?" Matthew shrugged.

"What do I know about love, anyway?" Matthew smiled softly. "Just try to be glad you're back home, all right? Eat something, take a bath, go outside for some fresh air. Oh, and Al?"

"Yeah, Mattie?"

"That rose is dying. You should probably throw it out soon." The door closed quietly behind Matthew, leaving Alfred wide-eyed and breathless.

 _Is dying._ He spun around, heart thudding painfully. There, in the tiny fluted vase Mathilde had given him, was the rose. It was drooping like an old man over a cane, petals scattered on the desk, edges curling and blackening. He was stumbling over to the desk, snatching up the vase in horror. More petals scattered, falling like snow.

Like snow. That crunched beneath his boots and glimmered on Beast's dark horns.

There wasn't any scent left and the stem was losing its glossy sheen.

Green, vibrant, beautiful, emerald green eyes filled with longing. Looking West.

_Is dying._

"Arthur."

The rose fell to the ground, crystal shattering around his boots. He was rushing down the hallway by the time Matthew reacted to the sound of breaking glass.

"Alfred! Alfred, where are you going?" Matthew cried out. He was held back as Gilbert grasped his shoulders. "I have to stop him, Gilbert!"

"No, let him go, Mattie," Gilbert insisted. "He has unfinished business to take care of."

The front door slammed and Matthew's eyes welled with tears. "I know… I _know_ that, but… I just wanted my brother back a little longer."

"He'll come back. For now, you should prepare for Francis and your mom coming back from shopping. Francis is gonna be bawling or something when he hears about this," Gilbert pointed out, for once thinking ahead. Matthew nodded slowly.

.

Alfred made it to Calais within ten days, but was frustrated when there weren't any ferries or ships crossing the Channel so late in the year. Of course, it was mid-winter, with icy winds and freezing rain eight days out of seven, so it shouldn't have been so surprising. His second day in Calais, he was wondering if he should just start swimming and to hell with it, when he heard a familiar voice singing from a ship.

_Bello Lovino._

Alfred's face lit up in excitement. Here's a man who would understand a ridiculous request made for love!

Alfred was in London within days. Not only had Antonio agreed to his desperate plea, his lover, Lovino, had forced Alfred to bathe and change into some of Antonio's clothes. He was broader than Antonio in the shoulders and chest, but their height was pretty much equal, so the clothes fit all right. Lot of red and green, though. And the pants were really tight. Was his butt supposed to show off like that? He went back to the tavern his family had stayed at so many months ago, rubbing his head and pacing the pavement outside, wondering what to do.

Just like before, a carriage rumbled to a stop in front of him. From the driver's seat, Alfred could see the hook-handed man smiling down at him. Alfred's eyes widened. Hook looked so weary and pale, like he was sick or very, very tired.

"Arth- Beast? Is he?"

"You must hurry, Jones," Hook answered simply. Alfred swung up next to Hook, ignoring the rain. With a nod, Hook snapped the reins with his good hand and the two brown geldings took off.

The carriage ride careened through London, wooden wheels bouncing off the cobbles. They took the turns so quickly, the carriage almost tipped over, but they didn't hesitate or slow down. They were tearing through the countryside before long, trees all melding together in Alfred's peripheral vision. Finally, Hook directed the carriage into the trees and onto the path Alfred almost missed. His fingers dug into the bench he sat on as they drove past the castle's gates.

Everything was dead. Petals were strewn over the dead, yellowed lawns like trash. The trees were stripped bare of any leaves. The sky above was pewter grey and heavy with clouds. It was just like everywhere else in England. Alfred was over the side of the carriage and running up the castle steps before the horses had even slowed down. He thrust open the doors, letting them crash into the walls as he raced towards the stairs. Little faeries, which were barely little balls of light without form, were dancing around his shoulders as he leapt up the stairs.

He slowed down, heart still pounding, as he approached the library door. He hadn't even thought about it. The library was the first place he met the Beast. The favorite place they went to. Being here, in this musty, old castle that had once been so new, the memories were flooding back as if they had never faded.

He slowly opened the door, wincing at the loud squealing. How could just a few weeks do so much damage to the castle? He slipped into the dark room, squinting into the gloom. There, near the window where Alfred used to sit and read, a huge, dark shape was slumped against the wall.

"Beast!" Alfred blurted out, running towards the window. He fell to his knees heavily. "Beast? Are you ali- Beast, wake up!"

"A-Alfred?" That snooty, British voice was so weak.

Alfred grinned, lips trembling, as he stroked the thick, cold fur on the Beast's face. Slowly, green eyes blinked open. "Yeah, it's me, Alfred F. Jones to the rescue."

"Why are you here? Why did you come back?"

"Because, Beast, I wanted to. I never wanted to leave," Alfred replied, avoiding what he really meant to say. It was so hard to sort through the tangled emotions and find the right words, though they hovered just out of reach.

"I'm sorry," Beast whispered.

Alfred shook his head. "I am, too. I never wanted to lie to you, Beast. Arthur. Arthur, don't close your eyes!" He shook the Beast's shoulders angrily, but his green eyes were sliding closed.

"I can't… anymore. When I let you in, Alfred, that was my last chance. Time began again when you came here. Once you left, you took all the magic with you," a huge, clawed paw tried to reach for Alfred, but he was too weak. Alfred gathered up his paw, pressing his face against the rough pads. "I'm glad I met you, Alfred. So… glad…"

"No, you can't talk like that. It can't be over, Arthur. I'm back! I'm back to be with you! I… I love you," Alfred choked, tears sliding down his cheeks as those green eyes closed. "I love you."

He let his head fall onto the Beast's massive chest as his shoulders shook. _Toolatetoolatetoolate_ , his mind mocked him, prodding into his brain like knives. He blinked, breath catching as he heard it.

The Beast's heartbeat, like a wild drum, was pounding just under his forehead. He pressed his ear to the frayed linen blouse, and grinned. "He's alive! Arthur! Arthur, open you- Whoa!" He scrambled back, blinking, as the Beast's whole body began to shine.

Claws detracted, bones snapped and reformed, fur lightened to bright gold and disappeared, horns grew inward, fangs shrank into normal human teeth. The glowing ebbed, then faded away, leaving only the small human man lying on the carpet with golden light dancing under pale skin. Then, the glow exploded, blinding Alfred. When he managed to blink away the dancing spots, the library around him was as it used to be and sunlight was pouring it from outside. He glanced back to the man and slowly crawled forward.

This man was tiny, slender, much smaller than even Alfred. His shoulders were narrow, his hips petite, and his skin was pale and smooth. He didn't even have a moustache. His clothes were much too large on him, and Alfred could just see his collarbone and his left shoulder. A scar was peeking out from under the collar of the blouse crossing over his collarbone. Alfred's wide eyes travelled up to his face. A perfect face. Frowning lips, tiny, pert nose, a dusting of freckles so pale he almost didn't see them, pale lashes curved over smooth cheekbones, hair even more golden than his own spiking every which way. He frowned in confusion at the huge, bushy, black eyebrows. He froze, muscles tensed, as the man stirred, brows contracting over his thin nose.

Beautiful emerald eyes slowly opened, gazing directly into his own.

"Arthur," Alfred breathed.

"I thought I was dead," the man said slowly, his voice a higher register than the Beast's had been, but still the same snooty, British voice.

"I thought so, too, Artie, but you're awake now," Alfred grinned, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. "You're eyebrows are messed up though. They're huge."

"What in the bloody hell are you-" the smaller man paused, his hand frozen in the act of rubbing his face- the same habit he used to do when annoyed or confused. He held out his hands, eyes wide as a tremor raced through his slender frame. "My… my hands…"

"You're a man, again, Artie," Alfred told him, trying to keep from moving as excitement began to make his limbs shake as well. "You're you again."

"B-But how?"

"I said… I said I love you, and then your heart was beating," Alfred said slowly, his face flushing. Arthur's eyes widened in shock.

"D-Did you mean it?"

"What is that supposed to mean! Of course I meant it! The only time I _ever_ lied was when I let you believe I was Matthew! And look what happened! You're a man again! I knew it all along, ya know. I knew I supposed to be the one to take the rose," Alfred said proudly, his hand reaching out to touch Arthur's cheek. He just couldn't help himself.

Arthur flinched, then sighed, moving his face against Alfred's hand. _Contact_. Real skin to skin, no more fur or thick calloused pads on his paws- hands. Whatever. "But I was a beast, Alfred, a _monster_."

"You were never a beast to me. Whatever your past, I'm willing to believe in the man inside the beast, not the beast inside the man," Alfred said as he slipped his hand behind Arthur's head, tangling his fingers through thick, silky hair. "Are you like this to stay, now? Can we go and see the world together? Sail the ocean?"

"I… Yes. Yes, I do believe so. The curse would end if I could love someone and they could truly love me back," Arthur answered, his eyes slowly re-opening, a tiny, shy smile on his beautiful mouth that Alfred couldn't stop staring at.

"So you love me then?"

"It wouldn't have broken otherwise."

"You could say it, you know."

"I don't bloody want to say it! And what's wrong with my eyebrows? They've always been like this!" Arthur snapped, his eyes flashing furiously. Alfred laughed.

"Actually, those eyebrows kinda suit you. 'Specially when you frown like that, Artie," Alfred mocked.

"I did not tell you my name so you could butcher it! My name is Arthur! Captain Arthur Kirkland!" Arthur snapped angrily, blushing bright red as Alfred cupped his face with both his hands and pulled him closer.

"You're forgetting the end of the fairy tale, Artie," Alfred whispered, ignoring Arthur protests.

"What ending? This isn't a-"

"The hero gets to kiss the princess," Alfred interrupted. Arthur sputtered indignantly.

"Who is the princess then?"

"Who cares?"

With that, Alfred covered Arthur's perfectly-scowling mouth with his. Warmth flooded them both, making their hearts squeeze painfully and then release. Every inch, from the top of their heads to their toes, even their fingertips, was ablaze. Alfred slanted his mouth, taking the kiss deeper, following Arthur's mouth eagerly. It wasn't long before Arthur was taking control, delving his tongue into Alfred's mouth, making them both dizzy. They parted, gasping, panting, and flushed.

"Are princesses supposed to kiss like that?" Alfred asked dazedly.

"Who needs a princess? Sodding idiots, the lot of them. Take me to bed, Alfred," Arthur demanded, throwing his arms around Alfred's neck.

Alfred grinned and swept Arthur up into his arms, bridal style. "Your wish is my command, Artie."

"MY NAME IS ARTHUR, YOU SODDING GIT!"

Alfred laughed boisterously, carelessly.

.

They eventually left the castle to sail the world. This time, Arthur didn't get bored, because there was Alfred to make everything new and exciting. They got into too much trouble and saw a thousand different lands and peoples. They traded wine and French merchandise for Alfred's father, and visited the Bonnefoy family at least once a year. (They eventually forgave Arthur for the whole "die or give me your son" thing.) Alfred never felt caged and never had dreams about the dark closet again. The world was never blurred again. And every so often, they would go back to England, to that enchanted land of eternal spring and blooming roses, just because they could. And they read books by the fireplace and got into too many arguments. In other words, they lived

Happily Ever After.


	4. Zhi Nv Niu Lang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for and is dedicated to George deValier. He and his stories are on fanfiction.net. He is absolutely amazing. I have yet to read a fanfiction that could beat his in just.... beauty. ;w; If you haven't read him, you should. He writes only AU and a lot of the BIG pairings, like UKUS, Spamano, GerIta, SuFin. Go love on him. Now. *A*

Bridging the Stars

Long, long ago a beautiful fairy lived in the Jade Pavilion. He was small and slender with fair skin, jet-black hair, and dark mahogany-colored eyes. His grandfather was the Jade Emperor himself, Emperor over the entire Heavens and Earth below. This fairy's name was Kiku. Kiku was a hard worker, diligent, earnest, and quiet. Not to mention shy. He spent every day in near-solitude, spinning the beautiful tapestries that created the constellations in the sky, the sunsets on the horizons, even the waves on the shores. A few fairies attended him, but none had his skill.

The only times he ever left his simply furnished room and mingled with the company of the Jade Pavilion were during the great festivals. One such annual festival was the celebration of the Jade Emperor's birthday. From all over the universe, all the different creatures would bring gifts to please the Emperor. Statues made of gold, fragrant woods, precious stones; mirrors bigger than doors with intricate frames; magic tokens that bring luck and prosperity; medicines that cure every sickness, heal every wound, and lengthen life into immortality; even beautiful music and dances written and performed for the Emperor's delight.

No gift, however, surpassed one of Kiku's tapestries. Kiku was the Jade Emperor's especial favorite. He doted on Kiku to the point that Kiku often had to come up with excuses to get away from him. This year's birthday was no exception to the others. The Emperor received amazing gifts, but Kiku's was the favored one by all. He had thought his weaving so simple; just a willow over a lake, its leaves barely dipping into the surface creating glistening ripples on the lake's surface. The way it was awed over, however, made it seem like he wove it out of thin air.

He sighed as the Emperor patted his back and stroked his hair and bragged to everyone about how amazing Kiku was. He picked at his dishes, the same delicious dishes as the year before, and the year before that, and the year- He broke off his thoughts before they got anymore repetitive.

"Kiku?" whispered a soft, feminine voice. He looked over and saw one of his attendants, young MeiMei. She smiled mischievously, making his own lips curve up on one side. "I will distract the Emperor for you. Make your escape early this year. I know how much you dislike these things."

"Thank you, MeiMei. I greatly appreciate this," Kiku murmured back, just as quietly. MeiMei winked.

"You owe me one, Kiki!"

"Ki _ku_ ," he sighed, even as his shy smile curved his lips even more. MeiMei giggled.

She moved around him then, squeezing between him and the Jade Emperor. Her bright, shining grin lit up her pretty face. Even though she wasn't as beloved as Kiku, she was a pet of the Emperor's. Normally, she followed Kiku around and snubbed the Emperor, even playfully sticking out her tongue at him when he called for her. She did have a small soft spot for him, though. As she took advantage of the Emperor's surprise at her sudden playfulness, Kiku slipped away gratefully.

Kiku darted around the edges of the crowd, using the shadows and decorations to hide his flight. He made it outside, breathing in deep the sweet, uncrowded air of the night. A few drunken stragglers were stumbling around outside the Jade Pavilion, but he avoided them easily. For one who spent his days alone, he didn't relish such loud foolishness. Wasn't there someone who just liked being quiet, contemplative, and restful? Wasn't there someone who enjoyed the silence of the night, the shining of the stars and moon, the soft fur of a cat? Kiku's shoulders slumped as he tucked his hands into his wide-sleeves and glanced upwards at the dome of the heavens. He could pick out the few constellations he had woven and smiled again, a little proud of himself. Those constellations did come out well, didn't they?

He paused, eyes narrowing, as a low shuffling met his ears.

He turned, hands leaving his sleeves, as he peered around the low wall. He had walked into a large garden, one of thousands at the Pavilion. Low stone walls edged the pathways, separating the gravel walks from wild tangles of flowers and shrubs. There. A maze of tall hedges. Just barely, Kiku could see a dark figure stroll into the entrance. Curiosity satisfied, he tucked his hands in his sleeves again and decided to finish his walk and go home to bed. He stopped as a quiet "nya~" came from his ankles. A small black and white cat was twining around his feet, purring and meowing. His shy smile reemerged and he knelt down. The little cat hopped away, then, sniffed his outstretched fingertips. He chuckled quietly as the rough tongue licked his fingers.

"What a cute kitty you are," Kiku murmured. He blinked as the cat hopped away again. He remained crouched down, his hands on his knees, watching the cat saunter away. His eyes widened as the cat paused and looked over its shoulder back at him, dark eyes glimmering. The cat's tail twitched and then it continued towards the maze. "Do you want me to follow you, Mr. Kitty?"

A loud meow answered. That settled it. Kiku got to his feet, tidied his long, narrow skirt, and then followed after the cat, intrigued.

It led him through the maze easily. Kiku didn't often come into this maze, but he had a few times over the years and knew the route well. The cat was definitely leading him into the center. Finally, the twining paths ended and opened into the center of the maze. A large fountain was placed there. It was of a beautiful fairy maiden, her face perfectly round, her hair bundled on top of her head, and her tall, graceful figure arrayed with flowing garments. In her cupped hands were lotuses that spilled water into the pool at her feet. The pool was small, the water jade green and clear, with lily pads and lotus flowers floating on the surface. Around the edges of the pool were stone benches, placed for leisurely viewing and contemplation of the solemn and beautiful Chang'e, the moon goddess, statue.

Laid out without a care in the world was the dark figure from before, Kiku was sure of it. What other tall male fairy had that same strange, two-prong curl right at the top of his head? His earlier curiosity returning, he edged closer. When the black and white cat jumped onto the man's stomach and curled up there, purring loudly, Kiku was even more curious. Was this some cat god he had never met? A cat fairy? No… that was merely a gardener. A simple worker fairy that helped keep the gardens lush and fresh. Kiku could vaguely recall him now. A quiet, solitary fairy like himself, this gardener didn't speak much to others. In fact, Kiku had noticed him long ago because the fairy had been toiling in the warm sun with at least three cats draped comfortably over his broad shoulders. He remembered chuckling and bringing MeiMei and JiaLong's attentions to the gardener.

"Herakles," Kiku remembered suddenly. That's the name MeiMei had called him by. (MeiMei always seemed to know everyone.)

He stepped closer, taking a better look the fairy's face. He was very handsome, Kiku had to admit. Strong bone structure, a straight, high-bridged nose, sensual full lips, dark, wide brows, soft, long lashes fanning over his high cheekbones, and a wild mane of fawn brown hair framing his face. Dark lashes began to flutter and Kiku panicked. Sweat broke out across his brow, his face flushed, and his gaze darted around the enclosure, wondering if there was a place to hide. Green eyes, the same clear jade as the pool beside them, opened onto Kiku's face. They didn't seem to open quite all the way before the fairy, Herakles, began to rise. The cat jumped off his stomach, mewling in discontent on his knee. He absently stroked the annoyed cat's head and gazed at the floundering and stammering Kiku blankly.

"You didn't like the party either?" Herakles asked simply, his voice deep and slow. Kiku's flounderings abated at that lazy, soothing tone, but he was still flushed and embarrassed at being caught watching the fairy sleep.

"N-No, there was t-too much noise, r-really. I always get a headache. Do you not like parties?" Kiku managed to fumble past his lips. Herakles nodded slowly.

"I much prefer watching the moon and looking at the stars. Besides, my friends do not like the noises," Herakles drawled easily, looking down at the purring cat on his knee. Kiku's lips quivered slightly.

"You like cats. I've seen you with them while you work," Kiku noted, lamely, at a loss for words.

"Yes," Herakles agreed. He tilted his head to the side. "You are Kiku. The weaving fairy."

"Yes. I am he," Kiku nodded. Herakles motioned with his hand to the empty space beside him and Kiku gratefully sat down. "You are Herakles, correct? It is a strange name."

"This is a strange place," Herakles returned with a half-smile. Kiku blushed and quickly looked away. He wasn't used to being alone with strangers and this handsome fairy made his insides feel odd. Herakles's lazy smirk made his already erratic heartbeat race.

"True. I am sorry if I've troubled you. I was following Mr. Kitty," Kiku explained, feeling as though he should excuse his behavior. Herakles shook his head.

"No trouble. Mr. Kitty, as you call him, knows what he is doing. I have always wanted to meet you," Herakles told Kiku, that half-smirk still on his face.

"Oh? Did you want a tapestry?" Kiku asked, his voice becoming toneless.

"No. I was wondering if you liked cats, too. I noticed you watching me and the cats," Herakles chuckled softly as Kiku turned wide startled eyes on him. "I guess I wouldn't mind a tapestry if you insist, Kiku." Kiku covered his mouth with his sleeve and chuckled. Herakles watched him, his half-smirk becoming something softer. "You're very beautiful, Kiku. I have always liked to watch you when you come outside," Kiku's face turned bright red and he looked away nervously. "I am glad I made you laugh, too. Will you stay with me a little longer tonight?"

Kiku fidgeted on the stone bench, confused and anxious. He didn't understand that strange smile or the gaze on Herakles's face. He didn't understand why his heart was beating so fast, or why his blood boiled at Herakles's invitation. There was something so sultry and warm about Herakles's slow voice and words. He flinched in surprise as a large, calloused hand touched his cheek. His brown eyes glanced over at Herakles, horrified and shivering.

"P-Please, d-don't t-touch me! I d-don't like it!"

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you like it?" Herakles clarified, his hand hovering by Kiku's ear. His green eyes were frowning now, baffled.

"No one… no one touches me," Kiku mumbled, his eyes falling to his feet.

"So… you're not _used_ to it, then?" Herakles said, his expression clearing. Kiku shook his head quickly. "I am sorry, but I just wanted to. You looked like you were made out of moonlight. I wanted to make sure you're real."

Kiku stuttered breathlessly. "Y-You shouldn't say such things! It's very upsetting!" He got to his feet, shaking all over.

Herakles merely looked up at him, smiling again. "If you let me touch you more, you'd get used to it."

"Ah-gah-fu-Good evening!" Kiku squeaked, red from his hairline to his neck. Herakles chuckled again.

"Kiku, don't go. I will keep my hands to myself if you want me to," Herakles acceded good-naturedly.

Kiku paused, indecisive. He hated being rude, but he wasn't used to social interaction at all. How was he supposed to act with Herakles and his casual flirting? Because that _was_ flirting wasn't it? Kiku really had no idea. However… as awkward as he felt, he _did_ like the gardener. He liked Herakles's easy laugh, lazy manner, crooked smile, and his beautiful green eyes. He stepped towards Herakles, still frowning slightly. "I should go. I have work to do."

"You always work, Kiku. Just enjoy the night with me." Herakles lifted an eyebrow and held out his hand encouragingly. He seemed to have forgotten already that Kiku did not like contact.

Kiku stared at that outstretched hand, flicked his eyes up to that patiently steady gaze, then back to the hand. Gradually, inch by inch, he raised his own pale, slender hand and placed it on Herakles's. His breath caught as Herakles's hand wrapped around his, warm and strong. His heart fluttered in his chest and his pupils dilated. He wasn't sure he liked this feeling. He flinched, but his hand remained in Herakles's firm grip as the taller man got to his feet. He leaned over Kiku, whose head tilted back, eyes wide, to meet the half-lidded gaze. Herakles raised his free hand and brushed his knuckles across Kiku's cheekbone.

"I don't think I can keep my hands off you," Herakles said softly. Kiku gulped audibly.

"I should have left," Kiku muttered. Herakles laughed.

"Maybe. I've been waiting too long for this moment for you to leave so soon, though. Kiku, I've wanted to meet you for centuries," Herakles cupped the back of Kiku's head, fingers sifting through fine, silken hair. A shiver trailed down Kiku's spine.

"W-Why?"

"The first time I ever saw you, you were at the Emperor's banquet, like tonight's. I thought you looked bored. Beautiful, but bored. I left early, like tonight. That's when I saw you in the garden, not far from here. You were kneeling in the grass petting a small cat and smiling. You looked so much happier petting that cat in the moonlight, all alone, than the entire time you were in the banquet with everyone praising you," Herakles told him. "I thought then, if only I could meet you, I would like to see you smile like that again. Your two attendants, though, showed up before I could approach you."

"Ah… MeiMei and JiaLong," Kiku murmured, rather stupidly. He couldn't seem to think straight with Herakles's fingers stroking the back of his head.

"Are you still frightened of me, Kiku?" Herakles asked smiling. "I won't hurt you."

"No… I don't think you would," Kiku agreed slowly. "I don't understand what you want from me, though. I don't see how my smile could mean so much."

Herakles chuckled. "You don't understand? I only want you. Not your talent, not your weavings, not even your favor. I knew when I saw you in the moonlight that night that no one in the world would be enough for me now."

Kiku's lips parted, breath whooshing out soundlessly. What could he possibly say to that? His mind was reeling, his heart was still beating too fast, and his face was flushing too hot. He wanted Herakles to let him go, but he also wanted him to stay. He wanted to run to his room and hide away behind his loom, but he also wanted to stay here, illuminated by the moon, with Herakles looking down at him like he was precious just for being _himself_ , for petting a cat and smiling.

Herakles's green eyes fell to Kiku's mouth and Kiku felt his heartbeat halt. _He was going to kiss him!_ For some reason, though, the realization wasn't half as scary as it would've been just a few moments ago. There was some fear, but it was more along the lines of "how? What do I do?" rather than distaste for being touched. Kiku's eyes closed, his face blistering with heat, as Herakles's breath fanned over his lips.

"Is it all right?" Herakles slow, warm voice asked. Kiku nodded quickly, without speaking, before he could think too hard. Right now, at this moment, there was nothing more _right_.

When Herakles _did_ kiss him though, he had to physically lock his muscles in place to keep from fleeing. He just wasn't used to touch and this was so intimate. If Herakles's breath had been warm, it was nothing compared to his lips. Soft, smooth, and firm, they burned on Kiku's until he was felt wherever Herakles wasn't touching was ice cold. He was pressing his body against Herakles, fingers groping for purchase on loose cotton, before he even thought to do it. Kiku was so cold now, when had he ever been warm, and only Herakles could warm him. He had to touch more, press closer. He sighed quietly as a slick, wet tongue brushed over his lips, asking oh-so-sweetly for entrance that he gave without hesitation. An arm wrapped around his waist, raising him off the ground. His hands braced on Herakles's chest, but he didn't push away. The idea didn't even occur to him. Kiku was instead trying to keep up, to follow Herakles's lead in this strange new play of tongue on tongue, lips on lips. His head swam with heat and lack of air. Their lips parted, both gasping softly.

A warm, rough hand caressed Kiku's face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. A low moan escaped Kiku's throat as hazy brown eyes opened. He blinked, startled by the intense jade gaze above him.

"What is this?" a voice suddenly shouted in shocked anger. Not just any voice.

The Jade Emperor's.

Kiku turned his head, surprised and stricken with embarrassment to be caught in some stranger's embrace by his grandfather. A bright blush suffused his cheeks as Herakles slowly lowered him to the ground. His blush brightened further when Herakles left his arm around Kiku's waist. _Doesn't he know that will just anger His Eminence more?_ he thought feverishly. He glanced from under the heavy fringe of his bangs towards his grandfather. The Jade Emperor stood there, mouth gaping open at the entrance to the clearing; on either side of him stood MeiMei and JiaLong.

"Your Eminence, if-if y-you'll… I m-must…I c-can explain…" Kiku stammered painfully.

"It is obvious what has occurred here, Kiku. There is no need to explain," the Emperor cut him off in a hiss. His brown eyes were on Herakles's face and unconcerned gaze. "You've obviously been taken advantage of by this… this _cretin_. How dare you soil Kiku with your filthy hands? Release him, now!"

Kiku's eyes widened even as Herakles tightened his hold.

"Wang Yao!" Kiku snapped in anger, his temper flaring for the first time in his existence. After his outburst, however, he faltered in confusion. He had never used the Emperor's given name before, not even when invited to do so. Yet now he said it in such a rebuking tone!

MeiMei's eyes were filled with admiration and horror at his exclamation, and even JiaLong's impassive face was marred by the uplifting his brows in stunned approval. On the Emperor's face, however, there was hurt and even betrayal. It was quickly masked with rage, but Kiku winced seeing what lay beneath the fury.

"I will not allow this _atrocity_ to continue," the Emperor seethed.

"And how will you stop us? I love Kiku. You cannot stop that, Emperor. You could take away my sight, my voice, but I will always feel like that," Herakles interrupted, his slow voice heavy with matching wrath. He paused and looked down into Kiku's incredulous gaze. "And you, Kiku?"

"I… I don't… I don't know how… but I know tonight was fated. All my years of weaving stars and the fates of so many mortals below, I never knew that I could have a fate of my own other than weaving. However, now I know… my fate is with you," Kiku whispered with a wondering, amazed voice. A slow, lazy smile curved up Herakles's lips and Kiku's heart lifted with it.

"That's how fate is, Kiku," Herakles murmured softly and, even with the Emperor a few steps away, Kiku felt his blood run hot again. Being separate from this man would mean more cold, less warmth. It would mean only weaving, only working, always alone.

Kiku didn't want that anymore. If he ever wanted it before, that is.

MeiMei gasped softly, tears building in her eyes. "Kiki! Kiki is in love!" she cried out in joy.

"I won't allow this, aru!" the Jade Emperor all but shrieked. Visibly, he pulled himself together, breathing deeply through his nose, breath whistling. "Kiku has a duty to this realm. A duty much more important than a silly infatuation with a dirty fairy," Jade Emperor said in a cold, strained voice. Kiku's spine stiffened in affront. The Emperor ignored Kiku's uncharacteristically furious gaze and looked instead straight into Herakles's burning green eyes. "You are instigating insubordination. You are rising above yourself. It is time for you to remember just how _low_ you are, _Herakles_. Your life, your immortality, are a gift from me, your Emperor. By this rebellion, you prove you no longer deserve it, if you ever had, aru."

The tiny brunette Emperor stepped forward, glaring up into Herakles's face. A slender hand touched Herakles's chest, just above the heart. Kiku's dark eyes widened, the rage becoming astonished horror.

"NO!" Kiku cried out, reaching for the Emperor's wrist to pull him away. With a loud shout of pain, he was flung backwards by the Emperor's free hand. He skidded over pebbles as MeiMei and JiaLong rushed towards him and fell to their knees at his side. They both gripped his shoulders, holding him down as he struggled painfully to get back to the now-glowing twosome. Tears rolled down MeiMei's face as JiaLong's mouth twisted to the side.

" _Herakles!_ " Kiku gasped as the fairy's body begun to loose substance. His struggles ceased as green eyes looked towards him through the glow. A slow, lazy grin curved upwards.

"We'll be together again, Kiku. I'll always love you," Herakles's voice seemed to echo through the little clearing before his body completely vanished. Only the Emperor remained there, a triumphant smirk on his face, though his eyes were irritated.

"You will forget about that _mortal_ ," the Emperor ordered before turning on his heel and leaving. They didn't notice his smirk wavering as he walked away. _He_ had noticed the wet shimmering on Kiku's face. Kiku had never cried before this.

On the gravel, Kiku still knelt, eyes wide and unseeing with disbelief and tears. Slowly, his face fell to his cupped hands, his shoulders quivering, as he sobbed silently. For such a short, sweet time, he had felt more alive than he ever had in all his long years of existence. And so easily, so quickly, that life had been taken away to be a mortal on that ill-starred world below. He would be subject to disease, old age, and suffering. His lazy, beautiful smile would be heavy with weariness. His green eyes would dim with death.

"Kiku, please don't cry," JiaLong begged softly, his arm around Kiku's shoulders.

MeiMei laid her head on his, stroking his pitch-black hair as she would a cat. "It'll turn out all right, Kiki. In a hundred years, he'll be reborn as a mortal and then, maybe, you can see him through the Watching Pool. At least you'll be able to watch over him, and even send him help whenever the Emperor isn't looking."

Kiku shook his head. "I don't… I don't think I would be able to bear it, MeiMei. Thank you both. Thank you for trying to understand," he whispered softly, his voice muffled further by his hands.

JiaLong sighed softly and then lifted Kiku up into his arms. For once, Kiku didn't protest. He curled against JiaLong's torso and MeiMei gracefully got to her feet and flitted around them nervously. They made it back to the little hut without encountering anyone, to the two attendants' relief. Kiku fell into a deep, exhausted slumber within moments and his attendants watched him all the night through with worried frowns on their faces.

It hadn't taken long for them to realize that Kiku was also going to be punished for his dalliance with Herakles. The next day, when he awoke groggy and red-eyed, he had sat numbly a few moments. Then, he looked over at his loom and got to his feet. He turned his back on the loom and strode to the door. When he attempted to leave, however, the door refused to the budge. He had tugged and pulled and kicked at the door until JiaLong hurried forward to open it. It slid open easily at his touch, but when Kiku approached the opening, the door sprang from JiaLong's hand and slammed shut.

Kiku had stared at it mutely, brown eyes inscrutable. He spun on his heel, knelt at the loom, and within moments, began to weave without a word. MeiMei and JiaLong had shared a terrified, anxious look, but then sat down next to him and began their own work.

And so it went for decades. Weaving, carding, spinning, weaving, dyeing. Weaving. He barely ate, barely slept, and barely spoke. MeiMei and JiaLong served him faithfully and devotedly; their care and worry only increased as the years passed. Finally, after more than a century, MeiMei was tired of it. Over a hundred years of confinement for a single kiss was _ridiculous_. Kiku hadn't even attended a Banquet in the entire time. One fine day in summer, she took her pride and anger in hand and let them carry her into an audience with the Emperor.

The Jade Emperor allowed her to enter the inner Pavilion. He was stretched over a long, brocade couch with at least ten servants dancing attendance on him: _longyan_ , persimmons, rice wine, and rich sweets were held out for his particular fancy. At least three large palm branches were waving gently to keep him cool. A small band of musicians were playing sweet melodies more beautiful than birdsong. MeiMei kept her brown eyes to the cedar wood floor, her hands clasped neatly on her lap as she knelt reverently before the Emperor.

"Your Eminence, it is about Kiku- _gongtou_ ," MeiMei began hesitantly. The Emperor sat up, brown eyes excited.

"He sent me a message?" he asked.

"No, your Eminence." MeiMei genuflected quickly and then rose again, her eyes still on the floor. "It is I who wish to speak to you of him and his punishment. You are always just, your Eminence, how can it be otherwise?" she gritted her teeth but knew to swallow down the bitterness for Kiku's sake. "However, he has become barely a shadow of himself. He barely eats, barely sleeps, barely speaks! JiaLong and I have becoming increasingly worried for his health. Please, I beg of you, your Eminence, allow him his freedom for just a day. Tomorrow is Midsummer, one of the most magical days of the year and the veil between our world and the mortal realm will be thin. There is a pool, a Jade Lake, in the land below that is good for the health. Please allow us to venture below to bathe in its water while the sun lingers in the sky. We will return before the last rays leave the mountains."

Silence reigned. Only the fans continued their soft waving, though even those servants had paused in surprise at the tiny fairy's plea. Finally, the Emperor shifted. He lay back on the couch and sighed audibly. "Whatever you wish, child. Remember, however, that if he does not come back unharmed and in a timely fashion, it will be your life at stake."

MeiMei shuddered, her little body quivering all over at the bored tone threatening her existence. She nodded, though, and quickly retreated. Her heart was light, her feet even lighter, as she danced and skipped towards the hut. Finally, Kiku would be allowed away from that _damned_ loom.

.

On Earth, a young man set aside his plough and wiped away the sweat streaming down his tan face. Jade green eyes looked west, towards the setting sun and colorfully dyed clouds. A large black bull wandered to the man's side and stood there calmly as the man leaned on his muscled flanks wearily.

"Well, Tono, it's time to turn in, I guess," the man murmured, shaking his sweat-dampened fawn-brown hair. The bull nodded and lumbered towards the lean-to shack built against a wooden hut. The young man pushed aside the bamboo mat hanging in the doorway and went to the basin of water to wash his face.

Enes was Greek by birth, but Turkish by adoption. At least, that's what his adoptive father told him. His father, Sadiq, however, had never quite been sure. He had found Enes as a newborn in a tiny Greek village. He had been abandoned in a temple dedicated to Herakles, a Greek hero much-beloved by the people there, so he had assumed that the baby was Greek. He took him to the Ottoman Empire and raised him as a well-to-do merchant's son. Enes had learned the in- and outs of trading; how to haggle, barter, even deceive. How to weigh spices, gold, bolts of silk, and raw incense by eye. How to speak Turkish, Greek, Latin, and Spanish, even _Huayu_. Enes, though, wasn't satisfied by a merchant's life. He knew he wasn't meant to be a merchant. There was something else intended for him. His father was sorry to see him go, but nonetheless gave him his blessing. Sadiq kissed his son's brow and blessed him under Allah's name. Enes left Turkey, and then Europe, behind as he wandered. He discovered so many amazing things, met so many strange and exciting people, and sampled exotic foods and wines from all over Europe, the Middle East, and finally, Asia. As he travelled through China and onto a tiny island called _Nippon_ , he felt his wanderlust begin to ebb. In a tiny village of maybe twenty wooden huts and barely four times that amount of inhabitants, he found his resting place. A man there was trying to sell his farm so he could go to the city and make more money and find a wife. Enes was more than happy to buy the tiny farm and the large, well-kept bull that came with it. He became good friends with the beast, named Tono by the first farmer. Those large green eyes, a brighter shade than Enes's, would look at him patiently as Enes spoke to him, as if he could understand Enes's speech. After a while, cats found their way to Enes's household as well, as cats had always been wont to do. So Enes lived fairly content, with his hutful of cats, his large wise bull, and tiny farm. He slept most the hours away in the warm sunlight and cooked simple Turkish and Nippon dishes that he often invited his neighbors over to share.

But still… something was missing. But Enes knew if he waited patiently, it would come to him.

He finished washing himself and changed into a pair of loose Turkish pants and vest. He put a straw Chinese hat on his head to shade his face from the summer sun, and then, with his cats prancing at his heels, went outside for his usual nap. Tono was grazing beneath the twisted lotus tree as Enes approached. The Greek man sat beneath the tree, leaning against the rough bark and sighing softly. He dropped the large straw hat to the ground and let the sunlight, dappled with the shadows of leaves and lotus blossoms, play on his face. Tono's warm damp nose pressed against his shoulder and Enes laughed softly.

"I'm fine, Tono, I promise. I'm just… I'm just wondering; what am I waiting for? I should be happy, content at least. Normally I am. Other times are like now. I sit and wait and wait and nothing happens. I just want to stop waiting, Tono," he stroked his tabby's back as a darker black cat curled up next to his hip. A small fluffy white kitty nestled herself on his shoulder and a tiny black cat with a white chest and brown eyes perched on his fluffy hair, chewing on the strange two-pronged cowlick there. More cats draped themselves over his knees and ankles or climbed up on Tono's back to sunbathe. Tono snorted, tossed his head, and seemed to be considering something carefully.

"I have something to tell you, _mi amigo_ ," Tono said slowly in a deep, strangely accented voice. Enes froze, eyes widening, his head slowly turning to meet Tono's gaze. "I can speak."

"R-Really…" Enes stuttered.

"I am not just any bull, Hera- Ah, I mean, Enes," Tono shook his head again, his tone rather amused. "I am the Golden Bull of the constellation. I offended the Jade Emperor many centuries ago and he sentenced me to an eternity of suffering and wandering until I help a pure heart find true love."

"You're not very golden. You're black…"

"It matters not. Listen to me, _mi amigo_. Long ago, I was in the night sky, shining as I was created to do, when I saw the most perfect mortal. I loved him at once. There was… is no one… no one more beautiful, more perfect- a _y Dios mio_ , even now I love him," Tono trailed off, his voice heavy with sadness. He began again with a soft sigh. "I stop shining. I too busy watching him, loving him, wanting him. I ached for him and I died every moment I could not see him. The Jade Emperor was furious I forgot my duty to him and that is when he cursed me. I was glad, whatever my mortal form, to be on this Earth. I could find the boy I loved and hear his voice, feel his hand on me, protect him and love him as best I could! I rejoiced! _Pero… pero…_ when I found him… he was old and sick. Only his eyes, his beautiful golden eyes, were eyes I remembered. I watched him breathe his last and mourned him every day for a century. When he was reborn, I spent years finding him again, but only found him when he was old and suffering. This happen so many times I finally gave up all hope. I stop looking for him and now only memory of him is what I carry. If I help you, though, _mi amigo_ , I can return to the stars and watch him be happy and young and beautiful. _Si_ , I also see him suffer, grow old, and die, but I see everything before that, too," Tono's broad head looked away, green eyes gazing over the tiny farm as Enes stared at him.

"Help me how?" Enes finally asked. Tono looked back and moo'ed happily.

"I help you find what you looking for, _si_? You must come tomorrow morning with me, as soon as the sun rises. You must not speak, must not ask any questions, must just do as I say. I will bring you to a magical healing lake. It called Jade Lake. There fairies come down from the Heavens to bathe every midsummer. You must steal one of the fairy's robes so it will not fly away. When it comes for its clothes, you must demand for it to be your wife. It will agree and come home with you. Now, here is the most important part. You must choose the _right_ robes," Tono told him. Enes blinked, waiting, but Tono did not elaborate.

"What are the right robes?" Enes prompted.

"You know when you see them. If you do not _know_ , then you are not who I think you are, _mi amigo_. If you do not know as soon as you look, then do not take any of the robes. There is _one_ fairy for you, a special fairy. You must only take the robes that belong to that one fairy. If you not figure out which ones, then let the poor things go back home." Enes nodded slowly.

The next day, Enes rose with the sun per his norm, but instead of going out on the farm, he met with Tono under the lotus tree. He swung himself up on Tono's back and they were off. Though Tono seemed to be moving slowly, the land blurred past them. They were in the mountains far to the north within a few hours. Tono descended into a bowl-shaped valley and when they were surrounded by tall bulrushes, Enes slipped off Tono's back. Tono jerked his head towards a tall willow. There, in the waving branches, Enes could barely make out the flashing of bright silk. He strode forward as quietly as possible, moving through the bulrushes like a deer. To his left, he could hear quiet splashing and beautiful girlish laughter ring out like silver bells. Lower voices, that sounded vaguely masculine, replied, but Enes kept his eyes on the tree, blushing slightly.

He ducked under the willow's gray leaves and paused. Before him were three sets of robes. All were exquisitely woven of the most beautiful material he'd ever seen- and his father was a merchant of fine fabrics. One was bright red with tones of orange, pink, and bright yellow. Another was dark, smoky blue with subtle dark purple and grey lining. The last one, though, made his breath catch: soft lilac and lavender, glistening grey and silver, a sash of bright turquoise. Awed, breath stolen, Enes reached out and stroked the silk with a shaking finger. _This is the one_ , he thought without hesitation. The other two might have had much more beautiful colors, but this one was _it_. He folded it neatly, tucked it into the waistband of his pants, and then wove through the bulrushes towards dryer ground to hide the robes.

In the lake behind him, MeiMei was throwing the jade green water into the air and laughing as it fell, sparkling, down. JiaLong was floating on his back, humming softly and ignoring the pattering of water drops on his face and chest. Kiku sat on a sun-warmed rock, his face to the sun, as he slowly swung his legs back and forth in the water.

"MeiMei," Kiku called out softly. She turned, soaked brown hair fanning over her chest as she smiled at her _gongtou_.

"Yes, Kiki!" she called back in an excited, loud voice. Kiku only smiled, too pleased to be annoyed.

"Thank you so much for this," he said simply, his brown eyes on her face. She flushed bright pink with pleasure and clasped her hands together.

"Anything for you, Kiki! I only want you to be happy, just a little. It's so nice to see your smile!"

JiaLong shifted so he was wading in the water, legs kicking leisurely beneath the surface. "She's right, Kiku. It's nice to see you look so relaxed."

"I'm sorry I haven't been myself these past years. I will… I will attempt to be… better…" he trailed off, remembering those jade green eyes that haunted him. They all looked west, sighing softly as the sun began to dip low and the shadows grow. The clouds were stained the same color of MeiMei's robes when they made their way reluctantly towards the willow tree.

"Hopefully next year we can come again!" MeiMei sang happily as she wrung out her hair and reached for her robes. JiaLong, already dressed, dropped the bright robes over her head. She was blushing when her face emerged, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth as she tied the sash around her waist.

"MeiMei, JiaLong…. My robes…" At Kiku's voice, both fairies turned. Their expressions became those of horror as Kiku remained naked, staring where he had left his clothing.

"Where are they!" MeiMei exclaimed as JiaLong immediately began to search through the nearby bulrushes. MeiMei cried out in wordless protest as her feet began to lift from the ground. JiaLong grasped the tree, trying to remain on the Earth as the magic of their robes was pulling them upwards. "KIKI!"

Kiku rushed forward and reached for MeiMei's outstretched hand, but missed. JiaLong tried to grab Kiku, but also missed _and_ his grip slipped from the tree.

"Kiku, you must find your robes as soon as possible and hide from the mortals. We will be back in a year to fetch you," JiaLong told him, fury and anxiety alike in his words.

"We will be back! You must find your robes, Kiki!"

"I know! Don't worry about me. You two give the Emperor just one weaving at a time each month. There are enough to last a few years at that rate. You _must not_ let him know I'm still here!" The attendants nodded and vanished into the twilight, leaving Kiku shivering and alone on Earth.

He kept one thin arm around his torso, ineffectually trying to keep warm, as he searched through the tall grasses, wincing as mud sucked at his feet. The feeling of the damp, squishy earth squelching between his toes was unbelievably disgusting. As the sun sunk lower behind the ring of mountains, his shivering worsened. _Where could my clothes have gone?_ he wondered in increasing agitation. He froze, backing quickly towards the willow as the sound of someone coming through bulrushes met his ears. He ducked behind the wide greyish trunk of the venerable tree, his thin fingers digging into the crevices of the bark. Could the person approaching possibly have stolen his magical robes? If so, how could Kiku get them back? He knew for a fact that he was small and weak. Without his robes, he didn't even have simple glamor spells to put the mortal to sleep or hypnotize it. His mind whirred in terror and confusion as a dark, tall figure pushed through the grasses.

His breath escaped him in a loud whoosh, as if someone had punched him in the diaphragm. This man had darker skin, his face looked more worn and rougher, his hair shaggier- overall, he obviously had less "shine" to him. Here was a mortal man, chest heaving for breath as jade green eyes glanced around the edge of the lake near the willow. Kiku knew, however, that this mortal man was _his_ Herakles. Kiku edged closer, keeping most of his body behind the tree trunk. His pale face flamed red remembering he was completely bare, but after an entire century and more of a cold silence in his heart, he refused to let Herakles slip away again.

"Herakles?" Kiku called out softly. The mortal paused and looked around, perplexed. Jade eyes fell on Kiku's face peeking from behind the tree.

"You are… You are not a girl," the mortal Herakles said, baffled. Kiku frowned. His language was strange. It took Kiku a moment to remember that the Jade Lake was on a tiny island called Nippon and that the strange inhabitants here spoke some barbarian tongue, not _Huayu_. Kiku preferred the strange language and had chosen a name for himself from it long ago (mostly to annoy Wang Yao, but he _did_ like _Nippon-go_ ) _._ He breathed in softly and, suddenly, the strange words made sense.

Wait… they still didn't make sense. Kiku frowned harder as he opened his eyes. "Of course I am not a woman. I am Kiku," Kiku retorted softly.

"I am Enes Adnan, son of Sadiq Adnan," the mortal replied. Kiku's heart squeezed.

 _How could I be wrong? He must be Herakles!_ Kiku's eyes widened. _I am an imbecile! Of course his name would be different. He has no recollection of his life as an immortal, as his life as Herakles… of me…_ Kiku's eyelids lowered, hiding the pain now shining there. He wanted to curl around his sad, heavy heart and weep for losing his love again. For surely, he _had_ lost his Herakles. This Enes may have the same form, but memories, therefore his love, would have not been reborn. He flinched as Enes approached.

"Wait, don't be scared, Kiku," Herakles's lazy, beautiful, longed-for voice pleaded. Kiku flinched again, his fist pressed to his bare chest. "Please, Kiku, I want to apologize."

Kiku looked up, eyes wide. In Enes's outstretched hands were Kiku's robes. He glanced towards Enes's face, astonishment written on his fair features.

"I shouldn't have stolen them. I… I was just tired of waiting. Tono, my bull, I found out he could talk yesterday, he said if I took these robes then I could make the fairy who owned them my wife. He said that's what I've been waiting for all these years, what I've been looking for. When I saw these," Enes looked down, his fingers clenching the silken robes tightly, "I could only think that Tono must be right. There's something about these robes… something important. I feel like the one who wore these robes must be my fate to find. Then I thought what an awful trick to play on the one I'm fated to be with. It didn't seem fair. So… take them back, Kiku." Enes held out the robes again, green eyes contrite. Kiku slowly reached out one hand, his fingertips lying on the smooth silk.

"No."

"What?"

"No. I don't want them," Kiku repeated firmly, shaking his head.

He looked up into Enes's jade eyes and smiled shyly. There, in those half-lidded eyes slowly filling with joy, Kiku saw Herakles. How could Kiku forget that Herakles wasn't just made of memories and flesh? Inside him was his soul, his beautiful, simple soul. For all eternity, it was their souls that were tied. Between them, Kiku swore he could see a thin red string connecting their hearts. His hand fell from the robe and cupped the back of Enes's hand lightly. A slow, lazy smile, the same lazy smile that had once made Kiku's heart flutter, spread over Enes's full, sensual lips.

"Then you'll stay? And be my wife? …If that word is right here…" Enes's brows lowered in a frown, even while the smile curved his mouth. Kiku chuckled quietly.

"Let us use 'spouse,' perhaps?" Kiku offered diplomatically. "I will stay with you, Herakles, as long as I can. Next year, I must come back here and return home."

"A year… A year will work…" Enes trailed off doubtfully, but smiled again. "What should I do with your clothes?"

"I guess… I guess we can hide them here…"

"I had a good place for them earlier. Here, I brought some food and extra clothes with me," Enes remembered. He swung the small pack off his back and handed it to Kiku. "I will be back soon."

Kiku watched him go, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. _I have him back again. Even for just a year, I have him again. I can kiss him again and again, every day. For an entire year, I'll be warm again and feel his hands on me again. I will live again for a year._ He passed a hand over his smarting eyes and took a slow, deep breath to calm himself. _An eternity could never be long enough, but at least I have a year to love him._

.

It was supposed to be only a year. However, love does something to time. Days pass by, then weeks, then years, and yet it seems only a drop of time in a pail full of water. Their happiness was a living thing that grew and strengthened each day. Enes continued working on his small farm, Tono at his side as usual. Kiku would remain in the little hut, weaving beautiful rugs and clothes for them, though much more practical than he was used to weaving. He sold, even gave away, many of the items he wove and their tiny hut became something more like a home. Kiku didn't mind the simple fare they ate. He was so used to rich, heavy foods that the simple food was refreshing to taste. He learned to cook it himself, and soon took over the duty from Enes since he enjoyed employing his hands in tasks _not_ weaving. He helped Herakles… _Enes_ with chores like watering the plants and keeping their modest garden tidy. He even took care of their ragamuffin cats, so they were gleaming, well-fed, and lazier than ever. When the year passed, Kiku hadn't even noticed until after the sun had set.

He told himself that surely MeiMei and JiaLong had seen him in the Watching Pool and knew he was safe. He also told himself that two years wasn't so long to an immortal. His grandfather wouldn't notice yet, especially since there was enough of his work left that MeiMei and JiaLong would still be able to present something to His Eminence each month. He lastly told himself, quite firmly, that it would be his last time to forget. If he remained too long, his dear friends would be found out and even punished. He could not, in good conscience, allow that to happen.

The next year, however, things did not go as planned. Early in the winter, a wandering couple entered the little village, starving and ill. They were from a small peninsula of the much larger ZhongGuo mainland that was currently in the middle of a clan war. The man, however, was seriously wounded in the leg, the flesh hard and putrefied. Any healer knew his death would be soon and painful. The woman was heavily pregnant, with barely enough energy to drag herself into the hut the elders of the village had provided. Both died within a fortnight, leaving only two babies, twins. The mother had been able to name them and hold them for a day before passing away quietly into the night. Herakles (in the past year, he'd quite given up calling Herakles by his mortal name and Herakles allowed it with equanimity) and Kiku decided then to take the children in and attempt to keep them alive without their mother.

Both children survived not only the winter, but the succeeding spring and well into the summer. Kiku had been so busy chasing after the rambunctious Yong-soo and the equally inquisitive Jae-soo that he hadn't realized he missed midsummer until a good two weeks after the fact. He solemnly promised himself not to forget again. His weavings could not create themselves and his friends would be more anxious than ever. Now that the twins were around, he wouldn't have to worry about Herakles feeling lonely when he returned to the Jade Pavilion.

Again and again, the year passed and something prevented Kiku from _remembering_ to return to Jade Lake for his robes, let alone actually travel there on Tono's back. Yong-soo was overbearingly affection with abandonment issues. He was constantly underfoot, begging for attention and reaffirmations of affection (which Herakles easily supplied). Jae-soo was less affectionate and quieter, much like Kiku, but was rather mischievous in a different way. She was constantly following Herakles learning how to plow, ride Tono, fish, and even hunt. At the tender age of four, she had stolen Herakles's bow and arrows and spent the afternoon playing with them, ignoring the dozen cuts from the arrow tips and welts from snapping the bowstring on her hands that she gained. By six, Herakles made her a tiny bow that she could practice on. After that, she was forever chasing down the cats with her blunt, cotton-tipped arrows with Yong-soo running after her laughing hysterically and Kiku trailing in the rear trying to catch them.

So the seven years passed rapidly, each year bringing them some new happiness or gift. To immortal Kiku, the years were like shining golden weeks moving by in a blink of an eye compared to the hundreds of years, if not a thousand, he'd existed in the Heavens. He would feel guilty, even ashamed, during the quiet hours of sunset on midsummer, but those dark feelings were almost immediately forgotten when Yong-soo tipped over the milk jug _again_ , or Jae-soo got scratched by an irritated cat, or Herakles embraced him and kissed him until they were breathless.

How he loved his little, mortal family. He loved the nights spent sleeping in Herakles arms, loving each other into the wee hours of the morning, just to be woken by the twins what felt like moments later. Chasing down the children, weaving simple rugs and _kimono_ , cooking white rice and _miso_ , stroking the numerous cats that would come to lie in his lap throughout the day; why couldn't life be like this? So many nights he would lay awake watching Herakles slumber, many times with their twins snuggled between them, and think he could live like this. He could grow old and die a mortal if only he could have this life. He would give up his robes, his immortality, his beautiful talent of weaving the stars and fates, even his dear, dear friends, if only he could spend one more day with his precious, loving family. Damn the consequences. These simple mortals cared more for him than his grandfather ever had, than any of those fairies and gods and goddesses above. He had never felt so treasured as the moments when his family turned to _him_ and wanted nothing but his smile and approval. Wanted nothing but his love.

.

A few weeks after the seventh midsummer sunset, Kiku was weaving a new pair of trousers for Herakles. Though he preferred the simple _kimono_ these _Nippon-jin_ wore, that he himself donned, he knew that Herakles liked his native Turkish trousers. Kiku had learned to make the silly garments a few years ago, a simple task for a fairy whom had been creating stars since night existed. He chuckled softly. Truth be told, while he preferred to wear _kimono_ , he did enjoy the sight of Herakles wearing his strange Turkish clothing. _Kimono_ gave every person a very similar, slender silhouette, but Herakles's trousers emphasized his long legs and trim waist very well. It wasn't such a bother, really, to make them. They still seemed silly compared to _kimono_ , though. Absently, he heard the distant rumbling of thunder. Without a thought as to why it would thunder when the outside was bright, sunny, and warm, he hummed softly and passed his shuttle back and forth.

"Little Papa?" came a quiet, boy's voice. The children had dubbed Kiku "Little Papa" and Herakles "Big Papa" when they first began to speak.

It was Yong-soo's subdued voice that finally broke through Kiku's reverie. He marked his last stitch and set aside the shuttle. With the practicalities down, he turned, brown eyes concerned. Yong-soo was standing in the doorway, his big brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. Kiku raised his arms and Yong-soo rushed towards them, throwing himself into his papa's embrace. Kiku stroked Yong-soo soft hair, smiling slightly as that obstinate curl both twins had remained standing free.

"What is it, _xiaogou_? What is it that my little one is scared of this time?" Kiku asked softly.

"It's the sky, Little Papa. It's getting so black and the whole village is standing outside. It's coming here so fast!" Yong-soo whined, tearing up and sniffling. "Even Big Papa is frowning at the sky. I want to hide somewhere so it can't hurt us."

" _Wo de xiaogou_ , the sky cannot…" Kiku broke off, his brows contracting over his nose. Black clouds that moved swiftly enough to startle even Herakles? "I must go to Herakles."

"No! No, Big Papa says stay inside! Jae-soo won't, she's being naughty, but I was too scared to stay outside. Stay with me like Big Papa says!" Yong-soo begged pitifully.

"I must see these clouds, Yong-soo," Kiku said gently, though firmly. Yong-soo nodded.

Normally Kiku called him _xiaogou_ , and very rarely used his name. Only when he was in serious trouble did Kiku not use his nickname. He refused to release Kiku's _kimono_ , though. With a sigh, Kiku lifted the heavy youngster into his arms and rose. It was a matter of moments to make it to the threshold and look out unto the horizon. He could see Herakles standing under the lotus tree, Tono near him, Jae-soo clasping onto his thigh, her little toy bow in her free hand. It was the storm, however, that drew Kiku's gaze.

Black, boiling, furious clouds that could only mean one thing; his grandfather had sent for him; had noticed at last his absence.

"Yong-soo, you must go hide in the kitchen cabinet at once. You must leave the cabinet, no matter what you hear, understand?" Kiku asked in a strangely detached sort of voice. Yong-soo nodded slowly. "Don't worry, _xiaogou_ , your sister will be with you soon." Yong-soo dropped to the ground, looked once more up into Kiku's reassuringly smiling face, and fled.

Kiku hurried over to Herakles, Tono, and Jae-soo. Without further ado, he took Jae-soo's hand and knelt in front of her. "You must go protect your brother- No protests, _xiaomao_. No matter what you hear, you stay in there unless your papas call for you. You must stay hidden and protect Yong-soo. Do you understand?" Jae-soo slowly nodded. Unlike Yong-soo, who cried at the least provocation, Jae-soo was much more introverted for such a young child. She also obeyed orders more readily than Yong-soo. Kiku knew that Jae-soo would keep Yong-soo from leaving the cabinet. His eyes widened, startled, as she reached up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek before racing towards the hut, cheeks as red as Kiku's.

Kiku got to his feet, ignoring Herakles's soft chuckles. "Why so serious, Kiku?"

"Those are emissaries of my grandfather, the Jade Emperor," Kiku explained shortly. Herakles's eyes widened.

"You never said so," Herakles replied without any accusation, just stating a fact, as astonishing as it was. Kiku nodded.

"I was supposed to return before he noticed my absence. I always meant to leave before any trouble occurred," Kiku smiled wryly as he looked up into Herakles's equally amused gaze. "Circumstances changed. Things did not happen according to plan." His small, fair hand slipped into Herakles's rough, brown one. Their fingers entwined, gripped tightly. "I love you, Herakles. I always will."

"Don't go."

"I cannot help it," Kiku answered softly, regretfully.

The clouds burst over the village, but rain did not fall. Instead, two golden beings fell to the earth. One held a huge axe, the other a tall, graceful glaive. The axe-wielder whistled as he landed on his feet, one fist propped on his hip as he smirked at the pair standing under the lotus. The other fairy was smaller, more slender, and his face was devoid of any of his inner thoughts. A gold hairpin held back his hair on one side.

"Well, looks like you were easy enough to find, little Kiku," the whistler joked.

"Shut up, Mathias," the smaller fairy snapped at the taller before turning his inscrutable gaze onto Kiku. "Kiku- _laoshi_ , you know why we've come."

"Yes, Lukas- _san_ " Kiku sighed. His year using _Nippon-go_ made it hard to drop those honorifics and use the old _Huayu_ terms.

"He doesn't have to. He can stay! There are tales all over the world of angels and fairies that gave up being immortal to stay on Earth!" Herakles interrupted, his normally lazy voice rather savage. Mathias grinned as Lukas sighed.

"He really doesn't remember, does he?" Lukas directed this towards Kiku, who remained silent.

"Remember what?" Herakles demanded, looking from the Heavenly Guards to Kiku. Brown eyes rose to baffled jade.

"I weave the _stars_ , Herakles. I weave mortal _fates_. _Wo de airen_ , it was a fool's dream to believe I could stay here with you, with the twins," he ignored the tears filming his lashes as he reaching up to touched Herakles's stunned face. "Do not forget that I love you, _airen_ , and I will for all eternity."

"No. NO!" Herakles grasped for Kiku's hand, but Lukas had already thrown Kiku's long-hidden, easily-found robes over his shoulders. Kiku's slender hand slipped from Herakles's grasp as he floated upwards, the Guards on either side. From the hut, the twins rushed outside, crying.

"PAPA!" they screamed. Even Jae-soo, his little cat, was in tears, her bow still in hand. Yong-soo raced below Kiku and reached up with both hands, sobbing. "Don't go, Papa! Stay with us!"

"This is why I wanted you stay inside, you disobedient miscreants," Kiku scolded as his lips trembled.

"Huh. How'd they get brat-OOF! It was a reasonable question, Lukas! Don't hit me over the head with your glaive so _hard_ ," Mathias whined.

The clouds swallowed the glowing forms, leaving the mortals speechless and mourning. Yong-soo immediately fell to the dirt, sobbing hysterically, breathing in huge gasping gulps of air just to sob again. Jae-soo stood, quivering, tears streaming down her face silently as her chubby hands clutched her bow tightly. Herakles stood on his farm in stunned silence. Seven years of happiness. Seven years of love. And yet it meant nothing to the Jade Emperor who only wanted his grandson back to weave stars and fates, to give joy to everyone but himself. Herakles had given up wandering, given up even returning to his father, had given up much of his freedom to care for Kiku and the twins, and all he asked was to keep what others would call chains. He'd even given up his birth name, because to Kiku, Enes was truly Herakles, which Herakles had never thought to question if it made Kiku happy. Kiku had told Herakles about his previous life as a fairy and while Herakles had found it hard to believe, he had believed it anyway for Kiku's sake. There was something _too right_ about them being together for him to really question Kiku's story. Was it truly a coincidence his father found him in a temple to _Herakles_ after all?

But it was all for nothing in the end. Kiku was ripped from him once more. That emptiness that had haunted him for so many years had returned, gnawing at his heart like a ravenous beast. Without Kiku, would he ever be full? Would he ever be able to be happy, to be content? How would their children suffer with a half-broken father and a stolen one that could only love them through a tiny magical pool in the Heavens? Herakles jumped slightly as a hot, dry nose touched his elbow. He looked over to see Tono looking up at him mournfully.

"This is good bye, _mi amigo_ ," Tono whispered.

"What?"

"I help you one last time to follow your heart, _si?_ I breathe my last, soon, and when I do, my body will vanish, all but my hide. You must take it and wrap it over your shoulders. You follow the one you love as long as my hide covers you. Your _niños_ you must carry on my old yoke in buckets so they not fall. _Adios, mi familia guapa,_ " Tono sighed as his whole body glowed as golden as the fairies had.

In his place lay a golden hide, still shining with light. Yong-soo and Jae-soo stared at the hide, eyes wide until Yong-soo burst into fresh howls and Jae-soo looked into Herakles's gaze imploringly. He ruffled her hair with a tight smile.

"It's all right. Tono left us this gift so we can follow your papa. Hurry, both of you go run and get buckets!" The twins scampered off as he knelt down and touched the hide with trembling fingers. "Thank you, my friend," he whispered softly. He then got to his feet and hurried to get the yoke left in the _taro_ field.

.

High the sky, Lukas and Mathias were arguing about "tact" and Kiku floated between them. Often, he would look over his shoulder, hoping to see his family one more time, knowing it was fruitless. He would only ever see them through the Watching Pool now. It was time to move on and ready himself for the waiting confrontation with his grandfather. Wang Yao would be beyond furious this time. For the first time, Kiku remembered his attendants with a fierce blaze of guilt. Could they be right now suffering for their silence, for _his_ betrayal? Could they have already been banished from the Heavens? Maybe even have had their existence wiped away? He trembled at the thought. He would have prayed that they be spared until he could beg for leniency, but he realized that there was no one to whom to pray. The Jade Emperor was the highest being in the Heavens and it was _he_ that Kiku had angered. In desperation, he prayed to the moon goddess, Chang'e. She too had been separated from the mortal man she loved, so if anyone could understand it would be she.

His eyes widened.

" _Papa! Little Papa! Kiku!_ " Three familiar seemed to call to him from far away, but slowly gaining in volume. He turned over his shoulder just as the two Guards did. In the far distance, Kiku could see the golden glow and barely make out the strange figure of his husband bent over with the yoke on his shoulders and his two children hanging in buckets. In shock, the trio had paused and Kiku called out, reaching with both hands as his family drew near enough he could see their faces.

"Herakles! _Xiaogou! Xiaomao!_ " He answered, his face breaking into the widest smile he'd ever made. He gasped aloud as an arm wrapped around his torso roughly.

"That damn bull. I told you it was him," Mathias growled as Lukas made a strange motion with his hand. The clouds around them flashed green and a terrifying face formed in the dark clouds. It puffed its cheeks and blew, sending the trio flying through the air and into the starlit Heavens.

"No! Let me go to them!" Kiku screeched, forgetting decorum, forgetting duty, forgetting responsibility. The sight of his family chasing him even through the sky, wearing the pelt of their good friend Tono, who must have given his life so they could be reunited, spurred Kiku's anger.

"Whoa! Calm down!" Mathias exclaimed. He hissed in pain, loosening his hold just long enough for Kiku to slip free. "HE BIT ME!"

"I bite you all the time and you don't let go. That was inexcusable," Lukas retorted calmly as Mathias flapped his wounded hand.

"Well, your bites are for fun. His _wasn't_."

"You only _think_ they're for fun, you imbecile."

Kiku was racing over through the stars, arms reaching for his family as they neared. He didn't even hear the Guards dissolve into their argument. Just a hair breadth's away, Herakles let go of the yoke with one hand, reaching towards Kiku's hands. Yong-soo cried out as suddenly a bright blade swept between them, sending Kiku flying back. When he opened his dazzled eyes, a wide river of stars flowed between him and his family. It was impossible to cross without being consumed by the starlight, as if burnt by fire. He turned to see Wang Yao descending next to him, his eyes bright with wrath. His relief at seeing both MeiMei and JiaLong, though pale and shaking, was eclipsed by his mounting fury.

"LET ME PASS!" Kiku bellowed, face bright red, tears falling to his cheeks. Wang Yao, the Jade Emperor, started back. There was a break in his composure but he quickly pulled back on his stone mask.

"No. You have a duty to the Heavens. What you've done is-"

"Insubordination, I remember, _Grandfather_. I do not care! I would rather die! I would rather give up these immortal robes and plummet to Earth than remain where I cannot be with them!" Kiku flung his arm towards the awkwardly floating mortals. "I love them! And I have _always_ loved Herakles. Even a full century could not break that love! I could not forget him even though you _ordered_ me to do so! Let me _go!"_ Kiku's voice broke on the last word, his voice lowering. "Let me go."

"Papa?" Yong-soo's pitiful voice called out. Wang Yao winced even as JiaLong and MeiMei hurried to support Kiku on both sides. There was a soft _twang_ and a tiny, cotton-tipped arrow flew over the river of stars and tapped Wang Yao on the side of his face. He caught the little arrow and stared over at the mortals who only glared back. Jae-soo already had another arrow notched.

"I… I cannot allow it, Kiku. Surely you understand why," Wang Yao finally murmured sadly, his anger completely forgotten. "You _are_ the Weaver Fairy. You must stay in the Pavilion and weave the stars and fates. Without you, the Heavens will crumble and mortals will lose their purpose. You must stay here."

Kiku's shoulders slumped.

"Surely you can do _something_ , Your Eminence! Kiku is only suffering being apart from him! From _them_. Won't the stars and fates suffer, too?" MeiMei pleaded.

"Why can't they be together even for a short time every year?" JiaLong entreated with her.

"Even if I could allow that, I already created this river. There is no way the mortals can cross it. Not even you fairies can cross it. I'm sorry, Kiku, I truly am," Wang Yao replied.

A soft, muffled noise reached very ear and they all looked up, baffled. The sound grew louder and louder, until it was deafening. Kiku's eyes widened as Herakles spun around, the children crying out more in delight than fear. Thousands upon thousands of magpies flew towards the river of stars. Slowly, they pressed together, wingtip to wingtip, beak to tail feathers. Finally, they hovered over the river of stars, a fluttering black bridge of magpies. For a long, pregnant moment, everyone stared at the fluttering bridge and the implications that came with it.

Kiku moved away from his attendants and stepped onto the bridge. Herakles followed suit. Soon, they were running towards each other. Kiku threw himself into Herakles embrace and they clasped each other tightly, kissing again and again until they were dizzy and breathless. Yong-soo and Jae-soo were reaching out eagerly, clutching Kiku's robes as their buckets swayed precariously. Herakles and Kiku were quick to hold the twins between them, all laughing, sobbing, and raining kisses on each other's face.

Behind Kiku, Wang Yao looked down at the little arrow in his hand and smiled softly. "Thanks to the magpies, I can give one night a year. That is it. On the seventh night of the seventh lunar month the magpies may return and create this bridge for them. On that night they may be together again, but when the sun rises, the bridge will scatter."

"Only night?" JiaLong asked, frowning as MeiMei sobbed into her hands.

"It is only at night that the River of Stars will shine. If they are late, or forget, then they must wait another full year. There is only so much I can do, aru! This is a bridge between our _worlds_ we're talking about here, aru! He _is_ a Heavenly Fairy! Mortals cannot cross into the Heavens without perishing! I cannot break my own rules! That would invite anarchy, aru!" Wang Yao snapped. JiaLong shrugged just to aggravate the Emperor further.

"At least they can be together then! At least they have that!" MeiMei wailed. JiaLong sighed and tucked her under his arm so she could cry against his chest.

.

Over the years the Adnan family never missed the Bridge. Faithfully they returned and crossed it each year to spend those few happy hours together. When Yong-soo and Jae-soo grew old enough to marry, or go off to seek adventures with their grandfather, Sadiq, Herakles would make the trip alone and the two lovers spent the nights loving each other among the stars. Still, the twins would return now and again to see their Heavenly "little Papa". Many years later, they would help their aged, weary Big Papa over the bridge, because not even old age could stop Herakles from seeing Kiku. Old age never hid the soul that shined through bright jade eyes and Kiku never stopped loving his mortal Herakles.

When he finally passed away, Yong-soo and Jae-soo stood by his grave, crying. Then, as the moon rose, Jae-soo looked to the star Kiku always let shine to guide them over the bridge. Just on the other side of the River of Stars, a new star shined. The twins clasped hands, smiling through tears, as a familiar shadow fluttered over the River of Stars one last time. They knew that their parents were truly reunited at last. They lived on their mortal lives, always remembering to look up on the seven night of the seventh moon and whisper "I love you, Papa."

Herakles's immortality was restored to him; the Jade Emperor's wrath finally expired. Kiku wove the stars and fates of mortals and Herakles planted flowers while cats lay over his shoulders. They watched their mortal children and wove blessed fates for their descendants.

And they never forgot their love for one another. To this day, they walk on the bridge of magpies every year, hand-in-hand, and lived

Happily Ever After.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enes is the Turkish name for "Human [Boy]." You'll understand when you meet him.
> 
> So there was a lot of Chinese in here. ^^; Couldn't help myself:  
> Huayu: one way of saying "Chinese," or "flower language."
> 
> Xiaogou/xiaomao: puppy/kitten
> 
> Gongtou: commander, boss, lieutenant (kinda)
> 
> Laoshi: teacher. Used like sensei in that any skilled artisan can have this title.
> 
> ZhongGuo: China
> 
> Also, the clan wars on the Peninsula of China are the beginning of the Silla empire. I used Wiki, but I knew the sketchy basic facts of Korean History already. Silla was one of the Three Kingdoms of Korea a long time ago. I just couldn't remember its beginnings. Apparently there were clan wars until one popped up outta nowhere and took it over and was like "Okay, ours now. It's called Silla. Get over it." Or something to that effect. *shrug* I have no history texts of my own double check this, but it seemed pretty close to what could've happened and what I remember.
> 
> Nippon was Japan's old name, before it evolved to Nihon. I'm very linguistic-y, but not so good at history, hence all the reference to languages. I'm sure the Japanese honorifics were different at this time period, but they did exist, so we'll use what we got, ne? Same with the Huayu.
> 
> Also, the kimono mentioned are not, like, geiko kimono, obviously. Just simple, mostly one- or two-layered kimono worn by peasants. They probably wore straw sandals or went barefoot.
> 
> Yes, Yong-soo and Jae-soo are South and North Korea. Jae-soo is an OC of my own creation.


	5. Sea Foam Part I

Sea Foam

In the cold waters of the Atlantic our story begins. Under the sea lived the merpeople; beautiful creatures half-man, half-fish. Deep, deep under the surface was a gorgeous palace where many merpeople live. Its walls were made of every kind of coral of every color, and beautiful, swaying gardens of seaweeds and kelp grew around the large, colorful structure. At all hours, every kind of sea creature could be seen flitting to and from the large palace. Being so deep below the surface, there was no night or day, no stars, moon, or sun, only the ever shifting blue and green of the ocean.

The royal family that lived in this timeless paradise was led by the eldest brother, Ivan. The eldest sister, Katerina, helped rule the kingdom with him. Then, there was Natalia, Toris, Eduard, Raivis, and, lastly, most importantly, Timo. Though Raivis was the littlest in size, Timo was the youngest. And he was also the most beautiful, like most seventh children tend to be in royal families. Timo's hair was platinum blond, almost ivory in color, and his eyes were a bright, shining mauve that was rare and coveted by many merpeoples. His large, shimmering fin and iridescent scales were the same beautiful purple as his eyes. He was slender and pale, but his small stature belied the inordinate amount of strength he actually had. He was cheerful, fun-loving, and gentle. He sang every day, all the time, and his voice was sweet and sure. All over the ocean, sea creatures would come to sit with Timo in his garden and listen to him sing and let him soothe away their simple troubles.

But Timo was not always as cheerful as he appeared.

Timo wasn't truly happy. He was a curious and adventurous merboy, thus, after fifteen years of roaming every bit of the ocean kingdom that he could, Timo was restless and unsatisfied. Nothing seemed enough. Yes, his underwater home was beautiful and mysterious in many ways, but it wasn't half so mysterious as the surface world. Oh, the hours he would spend, his neck craning back, watching the distant sun settle over the waters, its rays dyeing the ocean surface a myriad of colors: gold, orange, purple, blood red. Yes, he could swim and float and spin through the water like a bird flies in the sky, without limit or gravity to weigh him down (comparatively), but the stories that the fish and merpeoples told of humans walking, running, and _dancing_ captivated Timo and made him despise the fish fins that bound him to his underwater world. The water was always comfortable, neither cold nor hot, always pleasantly cool on his skin, but he wanted to feel _warmth_ and _sunshine_ , he wanted to feel the gentle kiss of snow on his eyelashes and rain on his skin.

You see, merpeople were not allowed to go to the surface until their fifteenth birthdays, and being the youngest of seven took its toll on poor, curious Timo. Each year, one more sibling was allowed to rise to the surface and see the dazzling things Timo dreamed of so vaguely and earnestly.

Katerina, the eldest, had seen wide plains of something called grass, a vegetation she compared to seaweed. Tall plants with bright yellow heads had nodded over these immense meadows of grass and Katerina had tried to describe what she had smelled. Being underwater, scent wasn't something Timo could understand, but she had described it the best she could. She said it was like all the sunshine and beauty had filled her nose and mouth, and she could even taste it on her tongue when she breathed in deep and slow.

Next, Ivan had told him of icebergs and seals and whales, even strange creatures called polar bears. He had described the cold that pierced through flesh and scale and whipped through wet hair until Ivan had shivered. Being a merman, Ivan wasn't as affected by cold as a naked human might have been, and Ivan had actually enjoyed the experience. Each year, he would return to the icy seas, unpopulated by the humans Ivan detested, and play with the seals and polar bears (separately, of course).

Natalia had gone even farther north, where only whales and strange fish swam. She told Timo of the curtain of color that had broken through the stars and shimmered like a veil in the night sky. She had spent hours gazing into the rippling ribbon of green, blue, and purple, while her breath formed clouds on the air before her lips.

Toris had been a little more adventurous (most likely because his close companion Feliks had persuaded him); he had gone closer to human ports. He watched as huge ships set sail, large white sheets stretched full-bellied from the masts and cracking in the wind. He had seen the humans crawl over the ships, pulling at ropes and heard them singing in full, rollicking voices that revealed no fear of the ocean that often took their lives.

Eduard was braver still and had gone up to a deserted beach. In a secluded cove, he sat on the hot sand running the grains through his fingers and feeling the warm breeze caress his skin. Eduard was also the most studious of their family. Books and scrolls often sank beneath the surface, but most were ruined, and in the end, all the books became nothing more than mulch. Some, though, had lasted longer. These much older books were made with soft material that Ivan had told Timo was the skin of some land-creature. In the end, the ink would bleed away leaving tauntingly blank pages. Ivan had learned to read during his travels to distant lands, where sea-people could walk on land and then return and exchange their learnings for treasures. Ivan had brought home his knowledge and taught all his siblings to read. Eduard was one of the few that found the knowledge most fascinating and was often frustrated when the books became too spoiled to read. Now that his fifteenth birthday was come and gone, he would spends days above the surface on a deserted island or minuscule sandbar, trying to preserve the waterlogged books.

Raivis was by far the most timid in their family. He had an inner strength that showed at surprising times, but mostly he was shy and quiet and completely guileless. He spent his fifteenth birthday far to the south. There he found the warm waters of a lagoon completely untouched by humans. He sang on the beach, his voice soft and sweet, while birds wheeled and danced in the air above him. In thanks for his singing, the birds had gifted him with showers of flowers and fragrant leaves and shining feathers. Then, some brought him large colored plants. When he brought them to his nose, they smelled even sweeter than flowers. When the birds showed him that they were edible, he immediately took a large bite. The firm skin, the soft inner flesh, the rush of warm juice in his mouth, all this together made Raivis swoon. He had eaten as many different plants the birds brought as he could, until his stomach was full to bursting. Each one was just as delicious as the one before. He brought some down to the underwater castle, but it wasn't the same. Timo watched in envy as Toris, Eduard, and Raivis, and sometimes Feliks, too, sped away almost every week to the lagoon to eat the delicious plants in the bright southern sun.

This year, it would be Timo's turn and he was determined to see a human as close as he possibly could. Descriptions of humans were always vague and the few that sunk below the waves were sinking to their graves, bloated, pale, and distorted. Timo hated to see them like that with hungry fish picking at their flesh. No, Timo would see a living, breathing human. He didn't believe they were all wicked and greedy and bloodthirsty like Ivan preached. They couldn't be. There had to be good humans. Humans that danced and sang and lived under the sunshine had to have some sort of goodness in them.

.

He woke early on his birthday, eager for the day to begin. Ivan was waiting for him at breakfast, his gaze stern.

"Timo, you will listen to me closely," Ivan began. Timo made sure to keep his eyes on Ivan's. When Ivan spoke in that soft, dangerously benign tone, Timo knew he meant what he said. "You will not make contact with humans. I know you are fascinated by them, that you want to engage with them, but you must not. Humans kill creatures like us. Many think our flesh will give them immortality if eaten. Others will wish to tear you apart and wonder how you could possibly exist. Even more will torture you slowly in front of hundreds of unkind eyes, and call you a demon, a devil's pawn, whatever that means. It is _not safe_ to trust in humans. Promise me, Timo, that you will not make contact with a human- _any_ human."

Timo gulped, trying not to shrink in on himself in fear as Ivan levelled that stern gaze on him. He nodded slowly. "I promise, big brother," Timo whispered. Ivan's face cleared of any severity and he smiled brightly.

"Good. Enjoy your birthday, dear little brother," Ivan said gaily before swimming away. Timo gnawed at some seaweed, his appetite gone. Ivan's scary face, while rare, made their entire family quake in their scales. Even Natalia cowered… sometimes…

Timo left the rest of his breakfast and decided to head out at once. He didn't want any more advice from his other siblings, all of whom shared Ivan's views. Swimming as fast as he could at an angle, he made his way towards the surface. Often, he would have to slow down so his ribs could expand and his organs resettle. He didn't want to implode by being too eager. Finally, finally, the sunlight was just a bare inch away. He broke the surface, almost leaping into the air. The sudden cold made him shiver, but he was grinning ecstatically. Wind was brushing against his skin and he sighed, eyes closing. _This is wind. Ah, this is smell and scent_ , he thought, breathing deeply. Brine and decaying kelp met his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose, but was too excited to stop now. As he opened his eyes and looked up, dark eyes widened in awe. The sky was too big and open, with no end or beginning. It was like being captured between two endless oceans. He reached with both hands, wondering if he could touch the glassy blue dome above him, but it forever hovered out of the reach. Heart thudding wildly, he lowered his hands and looked around. In all directions, he could only see the shifting blue-green ocean and the bright blue sky. A cage without bars, inescapable nonetheless, was his first impression. Then, he shook his head. He was here to see the human world, not the world of fish and birds.

He tread the surface, his powerful fin swishing below propelling him forward. The sunlight was delicious on his face – warmth was even lovelier than he imagined. Timo paused to soak in the rays. Far ahead, he could make out land: bright yellow and green. Strange structures that looked vaguely like the palace, though much smaller and… straighter grew out of the hills above the golden beach. He swam towards the cove eager to feel hot sand like Eduard had attempted to describe. If warm was this nice, then hot must be even better.

In less than an hour, he pulled himself out of the shallows and onto the beach. He rolled over the sand, laughing happily, gasping for breath. It almost hurt it was so hot, but he didn't care. He dug his fingers deep into the sand, finding the cool, damp earth beneath and laid out on his stomach to enjoy the heat of both the sun and beach. It was glorious. After a while, he decided he wanted to see more, and pushed himself up onto his elbow. It was here when Timo most hated his fins. If he had legs, he could run over the beach and up to the swaying green on the hills. Those green plants must be grass, but he wanted to see the big yellow plants that smelled so nice. His sister had travelled much farther than he did, so he began to wriggle back down to the sea, wincing as the sand scraped over his scales. He paused, eyes widening, as a strange sound met his ears.

Such a beautiful, heart-wrenching sound. It caught in his heart, wrung it like a sponge, and tears filmed his lashes. It was so pure, so yearning and aching, Timo wanted to soothe away the sadness. At the same time, he revelled in it. Without meaning to, a song was already building in his throat and he sighed in loss when the music ended. It began again a little later, a new melody, but the same aching sound, still heavy with longing and pain. Timo sat up, leaning against a nearby boulder, humming softly as he listened. He couldn't help himself much longer and from his throat burst a song. It was obviously about two lovers separated by the sea. A woman left on land, aching for the human man that had gone on to sail on a ship. She waited for his return, hoping that he would live to see her again, but the days became weeks, the weeks into months, then years, and the ship never returned. She never loved another, only returned to the beach, waiting for her lost sailor. Timo sang the story, knowing the words as if they had been placed in his heart all along and waiting for the right music.

.

Far above the beach, a tall, blond man with a stern, frowning face was lying on the grass. Beside him, a tiny, fluffy, white puppy was panting heavily, exhausted from their recent play. Berwald Oxenstierna, the king of this seafaring kingdom, was watching the clouds drift by. He was contemplating the dissatisfaction that lay in his heart like he did a lot these days. He didn't know why he was so dissatisfied. His kingdom was prosperous; his friend was a crazy moron, but a loyal friend; the day was beautiful; and Hana, his dog, was healthy and happy. His parents had passed away years ago, and though he still mourned their deaths, he knew it wasn't grief. There was an emptiness inside him, growing larger every day. He was missing something important inside him, but he had no idea what the missing piece was. He sighed heavily and sat up. Hana looked up at him, beady, black eyes curious before she laid her head on her paws again and thumped her tail, waiting patiently. He took up the black case he brought with him most days, and her tail thumped harder. He unsnapped the clasps and withdrew the instrument from within. The dark wood gleamed and the strings were glossy from use. He took out the bow and slowly ran it over the strings. The plaintive voice of his violin flooded the grassy hill and flowed down over the beach to the ocean. His brows furrowed, then cleared as he decided on a song. He resettled his chin and ran his bow over the strings until a melody issued, sure and clear. After few minutes, the song ebbed away and he listened to the last throbbing notes.

Hana yipped once. He looked down and a tiny smile played on his normally frowning mouth. He held out his hand and Hana licked the back of it with her rough, warm tongue.

"Would yeh like 'nother, H'na?" Berwald mumbled, scratching behind her ears. She yipped again and his smile grew a fraction. "A'righ'."

He set his bow to the strings again and began a new song, though similar to the first. He always enjoyed these tragic lovers' ballads. For some reason, the aching notes and wistful words suited his melancholy mood of late. From the beach below, a voice rose in song. His eyes snapped open. He barely managed to remember the next note. Whoever was singing, their voice was like nothing Berwald had ever heard. The words weren't the same, but they were similar enough and fit perfectly with his playing. He continued, listening intently to the amazing voice coming from the cove below. Sadly, the song had to come to an end, so he let it die reluctantly. The voice also faded away, but he could still feel the words echoing under his skin. He had to see who was singing. For those few precious minutes, the emptiness had begun to ebb and fade. He had felt whole for the first time in years.

He got to his feet and hurried to the path that would lead him down to the cove. Hana raced before him, yipping excitedly. She always had so much energy. Hopefully, she wouldn't scare away whoever it was.

.

Down on the beach, Timo ended his singing with regret. It had been pleasant to sing along with such beautiful music. In his ocean home, there were no musical sounds like that. The roaring and moaning of the ocean, the echoes and trills of whales and dolphins, and the simple, heartfelt singing of merpeople were the only music down below. He wondered what had made such magical sounds and sighed softly. He laid his head down on his hands that were resting on the pitted boulder next to him. He hoped the sound would begin again. That music was even better than scent, better than wind, better than warmth even.

Then another sound, instead, broke through his reverie. He twisted his torso around and saw a tiny, white animal racing down the cliff, making noises vaguely resembling that of a dolphin. His eyes widened as a much larger figure ran down the cliff, sliding slightly on loose pebbles, a strange black thing in its hand. He looked like a merperson on top, but beneath the waist… those must be _legs_. Timo's eyes widened further and he gasped in shock, delight, and fear. A human, and so close, too! A tall, tall human, as big as Ivan if Ivan could balance on his tail fin like this human could balance on… what were they called again? Oh, feet. His hair was blond and strangely spikey, like coral. Underwater, hair never looked like that. Timo touched his own hair, wondering if his hair spiked like that- No, it was still long and fell around his face, it just felt rather… bristly, not soft and silky like usual. As the human neared, Timo noticed something strange and shiny in front of his eyes. He was so busy observing the human that he forgot his fear _and_ didn't notice how close he was getting. Then, sand sprayed into his face as the tiny, white animal jumped up onto the boulder and right into Timo's chest. In surprise, he squeaked in fear. Then a rough, ticklish tongue licked Timo's cheek between welcoming barks, causing him to laugh.

"Why, hello, land-creature. My name is Timo," he introduced himself as seriously as he could, hugging the warm, soft, wriggling creature in his hands. The pink tongue lolled out of its mouth and warm black eyes looked up into his. "You are very cute." The thing yipped at him.

"Hana," said a stern, low voice, distant, but slowly getting nearer.

Timo flinched and dropped the Hana-thing. It scrambled on the sand and then rushed around the boulder towards the approaching human. The blond human had slowed to a walk, moving forward cautiously. Timo knew the human couldn't see his fins from where he stood, the boulder being in the way thankfully. However, if the human got any closer, Timo would never be able to get away in time. Even if he believed in the goodness of humans in _theory_ , the terrible stories told by his siblings replayed in his mind. He couldn't chance it. Besides, the man's face was so _scary_. Even as far away as he was, Timo could see the man's fierce scowl. Panic seized him and he pushed into the water, ignoring the sand catching on his scales.

"Wait, where're yeh goin'?" the man called out as Timo let the surf pull him out to sea.

He looked over his shoulder as the ground slipped away. The man looked so confused, frowning more darkly than ever, and Timo wondered why the man looked so… lonely. Was it this man that had made the heart-wrenching music before? He dropped beneath the surface, the sand on the bottom barely brushing his fin. He gasped, bubbles bursting from his mouth as a loud splash sounded behind him. He spun around and saw the human had followed him, swimming with powerful strokes of his arms. Timo swam even faster away.

The human was going to catch him and eat him!

Then, there were strange, watery, yelping noises and Timo paused again. The Hana-thing, it must have jumped in too! He turned around and, clearing the surface, saw the man staring in his direction. After a moment of heavy silence broken by panicked yelping, the human began to swim towards the shore and the floundering fluffy animal. In an instant, Timo knew something bad was about to happen. The Hana-thing had jumped from an outcropping of rock and a very powerful undertow was present near there. If the human did what was wise to survive the undertow, the Hana-thing would most likely drown. Land creatures didn't understand how to survive in water and it would probably breathe in water. Timo fought his instinct to flee and his instinct to help an innocent creature. As he hesitated, rocking with the surface's waves, he watched the human. The human was trying to stay above the current, fighting the undertow to keep the animal above the surface. At this rate, _both_ would drown. Timo bit down on his lip, but his decision was decided soon enough. A particularly powerful wave smashed into the big human's body and crushed him against the rock. Timo winced as the man's head smacked against the rock, and as far away as he was, Timo knew it was serious. He was swimming in their direction before the wave had ebbed and the man slid down the rock.

Timo reached the man and the loudly yelping creature in record time. He couldn't remember another time he had swum that fast. He wrapped his cool arms around the human's waist and tugged him upward as hard as possible. The man was huge, but Timo was strong. The human's head broke the surface and the drenched white creature whimpered as it clambered onto Timo's slippery shoulders. Timo grimaced as those tiny claws dug into his skin. He easily ignored the tiny pinpricks of pain and beat his tail firmly against the surging of the tide, swimming parallel to the shore instead of straight towards it. He finally managed to escape the undertow and made for beach, constantly checking the human's pale face in worry.

Timo was panting hard by the time they made it to the beach though it didn't take more than a few minutes. He was thankful for his large, powerful tail for the first time in his life. There was no way he could have hauled this large, cumbersome human back to shore with those silly-looking legs and feet. He used one arm to drag the both of them unto the beach, stopping when most of the man was on dry, hot sand. Only the man's ridiculously long legs were still submerged in the foam and steady waves. Hana-thing flopped off Timo's shoulder, crawled across the sand, and began to lick the man's face weakly. Timo laid the man on his back and turned his face to the side. Surely, he had swallowed water. Ivan said humans couldn't breathe water like merpeople could. Timo shook the human's shoulders, letting out a sigh of relief as he coughed up seawater and gulped in huge, shaky breaths of air.

"Oh, good, you're alive," Timo whispered, brushing soaking wet strands of hair from the man's face.

The man on the ground turned his head and met Timo's gaze. Timo gasped aloud. Even though he was human, it was as if the ocean had seeped into him, dyeing his eyes with its essence. Timo touched the human's damp cheek, entranced. The man's skin was cool to touch and rather rough beneath his fingers. Those beautiful, ocean-blue eyes blinked up at him sluggishly as the man breathed raggedly, struggling to slow his rapidly beating heart. Timo could feel that blurry, intense stare deep, deep within him, making his own heartbeat erratic. That hungry gaze was hypnotic, locking the merboy in place, leaving him unable to look away even as terror began to assert itself in his mind. Slowly, painstakingly, the human raised his large hand from the sand and reached for Timo's face. The merboy froze, too terrified and mesmerized to move.

"Sing fer meh," the mortal mumbled hoarsely. Large, wet fingers brushed Timo's lips, the man's mouth curving upwards only on one side before his hand fell heavily back to the sand between them.

Timo pressed his own fingertips to his lips, eyes widening in alarm. What a strange, unnerving feeling spreading from his lips to every fiber of his being. His eyes shuttered closed, a soft sigh slipping past his lips. What a wondrous feeling of fingers on his skin with no water between them, just warm scented air.

Then the mortal began to cough, hacking up more saltwater and gasping between coughs. Timo stared down at him, purple eyes wide and horrified until the coughing ebbed. The man's breath rattled loudly and his eyes were closed, brows low.

Timo forgot his fear again in pity and concern. _Poor, weak human,_ Timo thought, reaching out to smooth damp hair off the human's forehead. As the man's cough subsided into whistling, half-gasping breaths, Timo hummed softly. It was like trying to soothe a wounded shark. They didn't want help, didn't think they needed it, and were terrifying, but Timo knew that music calmed the ferocious beasts of the sea like nothing else could. This man, too, was struggling to move too quickly, to wake when he needed rest, acting as if he were stronger than his own body. What silly, tragic, beautiful nonsense. Timo smiled, stroking the man's forehead and singing softly the song he had sung with the enchanting land-music. The man's hoarse breathing calmed. This man may look scary, but Ivan was wrong. This man had a good heart. Timo could tell just by watching him almost die trying to save a tiny land-creature's life. Even now, the Hana-thing was licking the human's cheek and making low, anxious, whining sounds.

Timo's violet eyes fell to the human's mouth. His lips were pale, thin, and chapped. Though frown creases were around his mouth, a tiny smile had pulled up one side of his lips. Would the human… would the human mind if Timo touched him? Like the human had touched him earlier? He drew in a breath, unable to continue his song as such a startling thought reached him. He wouldn't be able to unthink it now. Not unless he…

Timo slowly leaned over the human, still blushing. Just one wouldn't hurt. Just one, simple kiss. A celebration to life hard-won, to smiling in the sunlight with only the air between them, the hot sand below, the blue sky above. Any and every reason he could think of to celebrate just for the excuse. He gently touched his lips to the human's; pale lashes fanned over red cheekbones. A hand, large yet weak, grasped Timo's wrist, holding him in place. Timo pulled away, squeaking slightly in surprise. The human was still unconscious and a slow, astonished smile grew on Timo's face. Who knew such a chapped, salt-crusted mouth could taste so sweet? Who knew that the merest pressure of their lips together could make his innocent heart quake in his chest and leave him yearning for something _more_?

Timo parted his lips, licking them and the sensation of the human's soft kiss. He tasted like the ocean: brine and sand and water. Yet he also tasted like sunlight. Like something earthy and warm, something so completely different from the world Timo knew. And he loved him. He loved this nameless, half-drowned human with his salt-chapped lips and half-done smile. What had he done? Could he have stopped it, this surging of emotion that squeezed his stupid heart into pulsating mush? How could he have fallen in love so quickly with someone so frightening, so different? He didn't even know his name! But Timo loved him so much it hurt. The sunlight lit up his spikey blond hair and the Hana-thing nuzzled his cheek, the image wrenching his heart. He would have said his name then, whispered it into the human's ear and told him that he would return soon, but another loud noise interrupted the cove's silence.

From on top the cliff, a small group of people were walking and singing. Most seemed to be wearing flapping, black clothes and swinging strange beaded necklaces in their hands. One of them parted from the group and peered down the path to the beach. With a frightened cry, Timo threw himself into the surf, letting it pull him out to sea. There were too many humans! Too many witnesses! If so many were to see a merman, then humans from all over would try to find his family's kingdom and fish them! Like tuna! He let the tide pull him under, tugging him out into the safe, blue depths. Softly sighing, he pressed his cool fingertips to his lips and branded the memory of that sweet kiss into his memory.

.

For months, Timo wallowed in his heartsickness. Every night he dreamed of the ocean-eyed mortal. Every morning, he woke with the feeling of his wet fingers on Timo's lips. He would brush his fingertips over his mouth, pressing firmly, trying in vain to recall the feeling, the taste, the heart breaking sensation of his lips on the mortal's. If only it could have lasted longer. If only he could have touched the mortal's face, sung to him until he awoke, with ocean-eyes gazing up to his face. If only he could have told him his name, told him that he would return, to wait for him. Every chance he got, Timo would swim to the surface kingdom and watch the beach for the mortal, but the tall man with his fluffy, white Hana-creature never returned. He never heard that enchanting music and aching melody. He worried that maybe the human, with his fragile, mortal body, had died after Timo had fled. He told himself that other humans had come and had seen the man lying on the beach. Surely, _surely_ , his mortal was still alive.

Because that human was always, would always be, _Timo's_ mortal. Timo would live for centuries, living more than ten times the length at that man's existence, but he would always remember that shy half-smile and the man's soft plea for Timo to sing. He would never forget that sweet, sandy, salty kiss in the sunlight.

After a while, his siblings began to notice his strange behavior. He was constantly staring out into nowhere, purple eyes hazy and unfocused, his slender fingers pressed to his mouth. He was sighing deeply every time his eyelids fluttered closed, as if in pain. He would softly hum the same tune under his breath, tail fin waving gently in the water. They didn't even know the tune. Worse than all this, he was continuously missing. For hours at a time, Timo would disappear and no one would be able to recall when or where he had gone. Often, his siblings had tried to ask him what was wrong, but he merely looked away, his eyes sad, and replied with mumbled apologies. Timo knew his family loved him, worried about him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He knew what they would do, how they would react, if he told them the truth. In desperation to end his crushing loneliness, he began to consider the unspeakable.

Going to the wish-giver.

Despite such a nice name, the wish-giver was _not_ a nice person. He was cruel, sharp-tongued and bitter. It was said he had long ago fallen in love with a mortal, but the mortal had betrayed him. He had come up to this ocean from the far south, where the ocean was always warm and clear, emerald green. He sulked in his cavern and only saw people when they wanted a wish, and therefore, were willing to give something in return. Timo didn't know exactly what the wish-giver would want, but he was willing to give anything he could. Weeks of sharp, painful yearning in his chest was really too much. His decision made, he secretly planned to visit the wish-giver.

Early the next morning, Timo snuck from his chambers. He looked back one last time to see his family sleeping so peacefully on their many beds of soft sponges and kelp. Cheerful Katerina, responsible Ivan, beautiful Natalia, bashful Toris, clever Eduard, sweet Raivis; how he loved them. Then the unbidden image of the human man entered his mind's eye and his resolve hardened. Even if it meant he'd never see his loving, happy family, it would be worth it.

Wouldn't it?

He fled the colorful, gorgeous palace and swam towards the wish-giver's known residence. Before the sun's rays had fully penetrated the depths, Timo was swimming even deeper into the dark. He shuddered as the temperature dropped further and pressure began to crush in his ears. Finally, he found what _had_ to be the wish-giver's lair. A huge hole was carved into hard, shiny black rock that Eduard had told him was made from undersea volcanoes. He drifted into the opening and, echoing in the depths, he could hear soft singing. It was a low, baritone voice and Timo wondered if it could possibly be the wish-giver. He peered into the living quarters that were only veiled by colorful shells strung on strange, shining kelp-that-wasn't. Beyond the curtain, he could see the lithe, olive-toned torso of the wish-giver. Most of the merpeople in these northern seas were pale and fair-haired. Timo sighed in relief. He _had_ found him! The shells clattered musically as he brushed his hand over them to push them aside.

"Don't you know how to fucking _knock_?" a belligerent voice snarled as the beautiful singing stopped. Timo flinched.

"I'm so sorry, wish-giver, but-"

"Oh stop with your disgusting simpering! My name is Lovino. You'd think living up here for more than a hundred years would mean you bastards would know my name," the wish-giver snapped irritably. He motioned Timo forward, golden eyes flashing. "Ah, you're the famous Timo. The youngest prince of the royal family. The singer."

"I… I am not as good as you, wish- um, Lovino," Timo protested modestly. His dark gaze was entranced on Lovino's strange appearance. His dark skin was not the only strange thing about him. His hair was dark brown, the color of the wooden ships that floated on the surface. A curl stood out from his head, completely ignoring the water's currents. His arms and shoulders glistened with golden scales; sharp, spiny fins spread from his wrists. His tail fin was a gorgeous, eye-catching gold, like his fierce gaze. A thin, elegant brow rose in question.

"What is it you want, little prince?"

"Ah… I wish to be human!" Timo blurted, terrified that he may anger Lovino more if he dithered. A small noise sounded in Lovino's throat.

"There is only for one reason I know that an immortal being like us... that one of us would want…" Lovino trailed off, his golden eyes dark and pitying. "It won't happen the way you want it to, little prince. You are meant for _this_ world."

Timo sucked in his breath. Within moments and Lovino already knew why Timo wanted to be human. He remembered the vague rumors about this musical-voiced creature. He wasn't like the merpeople. He was called a different name, a sacred, feared name that even merpeople dreaded.

_Siren._

Timo clasped his hands together. "I must see him again. Surely… Surely you understand. I know the rumors, Lovino. I know that you've felt the same-"

"Do not presume to know my feelings, you little brat!" Lovino bellowed, slamming his fist into the cavern wall. Timo flinched as the whole grotto shook. Lovino's chest heaved, the golden-fleshed gills at his throat flaring and relaxing. Just as suddenly, Lovino's shoulders slumped. "I almost gave up my immortality once. I _did_ love a mortal as the rumors say. He was… He was… _maddening_. And I would have given up anything to be with him. All he wanted, however, was the treasure I knew the location of. Damn pirates! Treasure, rum, and mortal sluts! That's all they want! I thought he was different…but they never are." Lovino's golden eyes closed in pain.

"No! He's different! My mortal _is_ different!" Timo exclaimed, pressing his hands to his heart. "Please, please help me! It'll be different! I love him! I must be with him!"

Lovino's sad golden eyes opened on Timo's flushed and eager face. "It is up to you, but I strongly suggest you reconsider your wish. The price will be high."

"Anything. Anything I can give I will!" Timo pleaded. Lovino sighed and floated forward. His tail fin didn't even seem to wave. Warm slender fingers touched Timo's throat. He almost flinched in surprise. How could Lovino's flesh be so warm so far below the surface?

"Your voice. The price is your voice."

Timo's amethyst eyes widened in shock. "But… but that's all he knows…"

"Would he still love you without it, little prince?" Lovino asked with those still sad eyes as a smirk curved his pretty mouth cruelly. Timo swallowed.

"Take it," he whispered. Lovino's eyes widened and then the smirk grew.

"There is more. It is not so simple. You will have legs, but every step you take will pain you. It will be like a thousand knives cutting into your flesh. Even while you sleep, the pain will exist. As long as you are human, you will have this pain. You will susceptible to sickness, old age, infirmities, and death. You only have three days for him to kiss you ─ a kiss of true love. With that kiss, your fate will be sealed as a mortal. If he does not, or worse yet, he marries or loves another, you will die. You will become sea foam and, like all immortals, your soul will disappear forever."

Timo shook, horror at Lovino's words filling him. But those ocean eyes still gazed at him in his mind. "Yes. Yes, I'll do it. He's worth it."

"I'm so sorry, Timo," Lovino whispered. Timo gaped at him, surprised that Lovino knew his name. Then, he choked. Gagging, he began to bend over, clutching at his throat as Lovino slowly pulled his fingers away. A bright light shimmered over his dark fingertips, gold eyes shining. "With this, our contract is done. May your wish come true."

Darkness enveloped Timo's vision. He felt himself sinking to the floor, buoyancy gone. He was so heavy, filled with lead and gold, burning and hurting and he was screaming as water rushed into his mouth. Then, all sensation was gone.

.

Berwald was walking the beach as he often did these days. The same private cove where he had seen the beautiful purple-eyed boy. Hana ran at his heels, yelping playfully, jumping up to nip at his fingers. Suddenly, her play ended and her tiny, fluffy body quivered. She was racing over the sand, leaving Berwald far behind. He frowned. He remembered the last time she ran off like that… He picked up his pace, his heart beginning to thud faster. Could he have come back? Hana's yelping changed, becoming more like loud, eerie wails. He lengthened his pace, his long legs to eating up the ground. He skidded to a halt as a strange sight met his eyes. A naked, pale body was stretched over the beach. Hair almost ivory in color, skin like snow against the bright gold of the sand- _him._ He was kneeling at the boy's side before he realized he was moving. He turned the boy over and saw the beautiful, soft face that haunted his dreams. Fair, almost translucent blond lashes fanned over his cheekbones. He was so pale, Berwald was instantly afraid that the harsh sunlight would burn him. He pulled off his surcoat and wrapped the tiny boy in the smooth velvet. As he lifted the boy into his arms, like a husband to his bride, the boy's face tightened. His perfect, lush lips parted, a soft breath escaping. The boy looked like he was in pain. Berwald frowned down into the boy's face as his lashes fluttered.

Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, those dark amethyst eyes opened and gazed into Berwald's face. A simple, sweet, rather shy smile curved those lips and a pale hand rose. Damp, trembling fingertips pressed to Berwald's mouth and that simple gesture rocked Berwald to the core. He would've fallen, but he managed to keep himself standing tall.

"It _is_ you, the sing'r," Berwald breathed.

The boy opened his mouth, weary face lit with joy. But no sound emerged. Those purple eyes were stricken and his hand fell to his throat.

"Yeh can't… you can't speak?" Berwald queried, an overwhelming, crushing disappointment warred with denial. There couldn't be a mistake. It had to be this boy!

The boy slowly shook his head, tears welling. Berwald closed his eyes. There had to be a mistake! Somehow, some way, he would find out the truth from this voiceless boy. For now, he obviously needed help.

"Don't worry yerself. Ah'll take yeh home, _mah_ home. Ah have room," Berwald mumbled. The boy dropped his head on Berwald's chest, tears slipping down his fair cheeks unnoticed by Timo in his fatigue. It hurt Berwald to see this mute boy cry. He kept his expression neutral (scary) and made the long trek towards the palace, Hana yelping and jumping around his ankles.

.

Timo spent the whole day lying in a biggest, softest, warmest bed he'd ever imagined. He slept peacefully for a few hours, but had woken again, in a panic, before the sun was noon high. His eyes searched around the alien place before he had found Berwald sitting silently by the bed in a large chair, ocean eyes pensive. Timo's heart had thudded hard as he remembered everything. Here in the human palace, Berwald seemed even bigger, brighter, lovelier than ever. Berwald had waited patiently as Timo got himself under control, dark eyes on the covers he'd somehow been placed under. He _loved_ the smooth, cool slide of the sheets, the heavy softness of the bedding, the words _sheets, bedding, satin, silk, goosedown_ like treasures in his mind. Words that Berwald had told him when Timo had caressed and plucked at the covers in confusion. At his further confusion, Berwald had frowned.

" _Were ya in an accident? D'yeh remember nothin'?"_ Berwald had asked Timo.

Timo had paused at that, letting Berwald's strangely accented words sink in. If Timo feigned amnesia, it would actually _help_ him. He wouldn't be required to tell where he came from or talk about his family, and it would explain why Timo was so confused by the human world. Berwald would supply the answers to all his questions without Timo uttering a word. When Timo had hesitantly nodded yes, Berwald immediately got to his feet and rang for a servant. In moments, hundreds of books, all colorfully illustrated were scattered over Timo's bed and Berwald sat beside him through the long hours and patiently, painstakingly, explained everything Timo pointed at. Timo felt guilty for the kindness, and even guiltier during dinner. When Timo was too clumsy with his heavy silver fork and knife, utensils he had only played with when they sank to the ocean floor, Berwald fed him without a word. He wouldn't even let the servants stay in the room, further hiding Timo's shamed, blushing face to the small mute's relief.

What Timo didn't realize, as he eagerly flipped pages, smiled in wonder, and gasped in awe, was that he paid Berwald in double for every uncomfortable situation he put himself in for the boy's sake. He didn't like talking, but the boy's wide-eyed interest made him wish he had more to talk about. He didn't like people touching his precious, illustrated novels, but when the boy's slender, pale fingers reverently traced the bold black lines and lingered over the bright reds and yellows, Berwald wondered if he had any more he could give the boy, if there could possibly be enough to keep the boy in wonder and joy for days, weeks, even years. Berwald had never taken care of children before, had never lifted a hand to feed another person, but when the boy was blushing in embarrassment, struggling with the utensils he obviously had no idea how to use, Berwald was surprised by how easily he was able to take over the job himself. He wanted the sad-eyed boy with his beautiful smile to smile forever, to smile at _Berwald_ until the world stopped turning, until all the world ended and there was only the boy smiling at him.

For the first time in years, Berwald felt _whole_.

"What's yer name?" Berwald asked suddenly. Timo looked up, startled, wide-eyed. Berwald cursed mentally. "Sorry. Just… you can read, s'maybe yeh can write?"

Timo blinked in confusion. Of course he had learnt to read with his siblings, though not as well as Eduard. But write? Impossible. Timo knew ink made the letters, but he didn't know how the ink shaped itself into the letters. Only Eduard had cared enough to teach himself.

Timo bit his lip. Then, his finger ran over the letter on the page. He stopped on one. _t._ Berwald stared at Timo's finger before the once-merboy glided his finger along the text again. It wasn't far until he paused under _i_. Slowly, letter by letter, he spelt _Timo._ It wasn't a long name, but he wanted to make sure Berwald understood.

" _Timo_ ," Berwald said aloud as he mentally put together the letters. Timo nodded, smiling happily. "I'm B'rw'ld." Timo blinked at him. " _Berwald_ ," he sounded out slowly. Timo grinned again. "Are yeh feelin' well 'nough to take a bath?" At Timo's puzzled look, Berwald smiled tightly. "A tub full a wat'r and soap." Timo's puzzled expression was mixed with terror. Berwald sighed. "Ah'll be there. Yeh won't drown," Berwald conceded, barely hiding his frustration.

It wasn't that he didn't like the idea of helping the boy in the bath. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Obviously, the boy was innocent and had no idea what sort of things would be going on in an older man's mind. In fact, at Berwald's words, Timo relaxed. A shy smile curved his pretty mouth upwards. Thanks to the good food and warm bed, more color had brightened Timo's features. His lips were soft pink and his cheeks were naturally flushed; he was as beautiful as a doll, adorable and cute and soft. He was small, petite, but not bone-thin. In fact, Berwald hadn't been able to help but notice the pudgy softness of the boy's small body when he'd carried him up from the beach. It had been hell to let him go, even just to the bed. And now this innocent, sweet-faced boy wanted Berwald to stay with him during his bath. Berwald scrubbed his face with his hand roughly and got to his feet.

"Ah'll call fer the bath. The maids will clean'p in here while we're gone."

Later that evening, as Timo sipped at a mug of steaming tea, a bittersweet drink that warmed him to his toes, the petite blond thought on his bathing experience. He didn't think he would really enjoy it. He _was_ born in the ocean and had spent the past fifteen years underwater. He had spent his whole life with the idea that for centuries he would stay there, swimming and floating and, well, _bathing_ in the sea. The idea of getting _back_ into the water after just getting _out_ did not appeal to him.

However, human bathing was very different from living in water. First, the water was almost scalding hot. Berwald had warned him to wait, but Timo loved the heat and was already half in the water by the time Berwald spoke up. Secondly, it was filled with myriads of delicious scents. Timo had managed to find out the names after an excessive amount of sniffing and bubble-tossing. With a low chuckle that made Timo's stomach warm and wriggly, Berwald told him: lavender, cow's milk, rare orange oil, rosemary. Thirdly, did Timo mention _bubbles_? Not silly thin, easily breakable bubbles. Not sea foam on sand. _Bubbles_ ; thick, white, fragrant bubbles that flew in the air and clung to his skin. He had spent most his time bathing, flinging the bubbles into the air and laughing without a sound. He had completely drenched Berwald, who had watched the play at first in bemused indulgence. It didn't take long for the giant human to start throwing bubbles back and a war erupted, leaving the tiled room one giant, soapy puddle. Berwald did manage to get Timo to actually wash himself. He taught Timo how to scrub the soap into his hair and rinse it out with the fresh warm water sitting in urns nearby. He even gave him a soap rag. Timo's puzzled look from the rag to Berwald caused an interesting reaction. Berwald's face had turned bright red, his ocean eyes, normally so direct, were looking away as he mumbled an explanation.

Timo giggled, remembering, and then sighed sadly. It was still painful to him to not even hear his own laughter. He glanced up as Berwald joined him on the balcony outside Timo's given room. After his bath was over, Berwald had retreated to his own quarters to clean up and change. A loud yelping preceded a hard thump to the back of Timo's knees. He cried out soundlessly, slumping against the railing and gritting his teeth.

For most the day, the pain in his legs had been increasing. He had been able to ignore it mostly because he had been lying down and whenever he had to move, Berwald would pick him up and carry him. It was a bit annoying. Timo wanted to see if he _could_ walk, but the one time he had tried to stand, he fell over from pain and lack of balance. Berwald hadn't let him try since. Now, as he stood there, trying his best to ignore the pain, something had decided to _throw_ itself against his legs. He looked down, clutching at his calf with one hand, tears in his eyes. He blinked as the Hana-thing panted and waggled its tail and gazed up into his face.

"Hana found ya," Berwald told Timo, his brows contracted over his nose. "Are yeh in pain?"

Timo slowly shook his head and scooped Hana up into the crook of his elbow. He grinned as Hana licked his cheek and yipped excitedly. _Thank you_ , Timo thought fondly as he cuddled her close to him. He froze as a large hand fell on his head. He gazed up through his lashes to Berwald's face. He sighed softly as Berwald's large hand stroked his hair, fingers running through soft, pale hair.

"Yeh should sleep. Tomorrow we'll ride 'round the kingd'm," Berwald suggested, his voice low. Timo's face lit up happily. He nodded and, with Hana still cuddled in his arms, made his way to the bed. He stumbled and swayed and gasped silently before Berwald neatly swept him up again. He frowned up at Berwald, for the first time showing his irritation. _I could have made it! I'm not useless!_ Timo mentally snapped. Berwald chuckled under his breath, the sound echoing against Timo's ear. The sound sapped the anger from Timo easily. He laid his head on Berwald's wide chest, smiling again, even as his legs all but trembled with pain. He was glad to be off his feet, to be truthful. He was glad for the strong, steady arms that held him, the heart beat beneath his ear, the smell of soap and tea. He fell asleep before Berwald set him down. Berwald tucked him in gently and smirked when Hana curled up next to Timo's cheek, tucked against Timo's neck. He patted Hana and then stared down at Timo's softly slumbering face.

Surely… surely this beautiful innocent boy was the singer on the beach. Why was he mute now, though? What sort of accident was he in that left him naked on the beach without a voice or a scrap of memory? Berwald shook his head. It didn't matter in the end. He would protect this boy and give him everything he would possibly need. There was nothing else he _could_ do in good conscience, regardless of these conflicting memories and emotions inside the tall king's heart.

.

The next morning, Hana licked Timo awake. He flailed a bit, arms wheeling as he laughed soundlessly even as confusion and almost panic began to flutter in his mind. Why did his tail feel so _weird_? What was all over him, trapping him, warming him? _And why did he hurt so much_? As Hana barked in fear and confusion, his memory came rushing back to him. He curled into a fetal position, hands clutching at his shins in vain. The comforters were stifling, it was so hard to breathe, so hot and sweat was sliding all down his limbs. He was screaming in pain, but no sound was coming out. Finally, _finally_ it ebbed. He lay panting and sweaty, tangled in silken sheets and feather blankets, while Hana licked his flushed face and whined. Timo patted Hana's head, smiling faintly to reassure her. Then, taking a deep breath, he dragged himself towards the edge of the bed. Pain streaked up his legs when his feet fell to the thick rug that covered the stone floor. Gritting his teeth, he got to his feet and tried to shuffle-walk to the water basin. White hot knives stabbed into his heels, burying deep into his flesh, up and up to his shaking knees. He gripped the tiny wooden table where the basin waited so tightly his knuckles turned white.

A soft knock sounded on his door. He whipped around, purple eyes wide, as Berwald entered the room. The tall blond stepped further into the room and a plump young woman bustled in behind him, carrying a large silver tray laden with dishes and cups.

"Yeh shoulda stayed in bed, young m'ster!" the servant-woman scolded as she set the tray on the bedside table. She paused as Berwald silently and easily loped across the room and lifted Timo right off his feet.

"He needs a sponge bath and cool wat'r t'drink," Berwald stated as Timo sighed in his arms. The servant-woman nodded and curtseyed. She winked at Timo in reassurance and darted quickly from the room, chuckling. Berwald laid Timo back down on his twisted heap of blankets and Hana ran back and forth across the floor, yipping in excitement.

Timo touched Berwald's hand and slowly mouthed the words "thank you." Berwald's beautiful eyes glittered. Without word, he brushed the sweaty fair hair off Timo's forehead, the back of his hand lingering on Timo's flushed cheeks. Nodding when he decided Timo didn't have a fever, he then reached for the tray and set it on the bed. Timo quickly grasped the spoon and did his best to scoop up the strange goo-like stuff in his bowl. He slurped it up and stared up at Berwald, confused and delighted. It was odd-looking stuff – like thin, wet sand – but it tasted delicious.

"'S porridge. With milk and butt'r and sugar. Yeh doin' fine with yer spoon. Just don't drip," Berwald warned. Timo nodded and eagerly continued on with his meal.

The morning went by quickly enough after breakfast. The servant-woman, named Berta, had sponged him down and chattered on and on about how pale he was and how lucky he was that His Majesty Oxenstierna had found him. It was the first time he heard that Berwald was actually a king. He also needed help getting dressed. He hated the strange shoes he had to wear. His feet were already killing him. Did he really need to shove them into those oddly-shaped things that added weight to every step?

He enjoyed the ride through town in a carriage, though. Berwald had the reins and was guiding them through the large, bustling capital. There were so many people and horses and carriages. There were stalls selling fruits, meats, and pretty things meant to catch the eye. Groups of people were talking here and laughing there, and children ran around everywhere; grubby, clean, fat, thin, rich, and poor. The sun lit up the city, warming Timo's whole body. When they entered the busiest part of the city, with so many stalls it was almost impossible to fit the carriages through the lanes and so many people that toes were trodden on and elbows rubbed, Timo pulled on Berwald's arm. Understanding, Berwald pulled the carriage off onto a side street.

He helped Timo onto his feet, and after a soundless gasp, Timo darted out into the fray, eyes lit up and grinning. He was still a little wobbly, but he ignored the pain and focused on putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as possible. There was so much to see, to taste, to smell, to feel. He grabbed Berwald's large hand and dragged him through the crowd. They ate roasted goat meat on a stick, sweet nuts wrapped in greasy paper, and drank tart ale in huge, foaming tankards. He tasted cakes and pies and candies of every kind till his lips were shiny with sugar and his stomach bursting. He listened, wide-eyed and heart thumping, as one man sang a long epic tale of dragons and knights and beautiful, headstrong princesses. Berwald bought him a cloth ball filled with bells that he could throw for Hana and a small sachet filled with fragrant herbs that overwhelmed him when Timo pressed it to his face to breathe it in. As they strolled, they encountered a group of people in rather frayed clothes playing instruments in gay, lively tunes. People were throwing change into their upturned hats while others danced to the tunes. After a few moments of watching the simple, quick steps, Timo dragged Berwald into the churning circle.

Timo stumbled and laughed, trying to emulate the dancers around them as they spun and hopped. His feet were burning, sharp, hot pins were driving into his shins, calves, and knees, but he ignored it. Berwald danced so well for his tall, lumbering frame that he easily swung Timo around and guided him through the steps. In the sunshine, holding Berwald's hands in his own, those ocean-eyes glittering, that half-done smile on his stoic, beautiful face, Timo was happier than he'd ever been. If only a moment like this could last forever. It couldn't, though, and Berwald led the gasping and panting Timo away from the dancers just minutes later. The pain was so excruciating now that Timo could barely breathe. He smiled wanly up into Berwald's concerned face.

"Yeh should rest. Come," Berwald stated firmly. He lifted Timo up into his arms again, making Timo blush wildly. Everyone was staring and laughing behind their hands. He buried his face in the crook of Berwald's neck, not even caring where Berwald was taking him.

A little while later, Berwald laid him on the grass by a gently rolling river. Just a few miles downriver, Timo could make out the great expanse of the sea and his heart squeezed. His family was out there, worried for him, and probably hurt by his disappearance. He glanced quickly away as Berwald sat next to him. Their hands touched and Timo slipped his smaller hand into Berwald's much larger, rougher one. He smiled, humming in his mind happily and didn't notice the faint blush on Berwald's cheeks.

"Timo," Berwald said softly. He looked up, still smiling absently. "Would ya… would ya like t'ride on the riv'r? On a boat?" Timo's eyes widened, but he nodded slowly. Berwald helped him to his feet, and Timo walked beside the large king, hand in hand.

With a few coins tossed to the boatman, Berwald commandeered them a skiff and helped Timo into it. Timo watched, amazed, as Berwald rowed them out into the river, powerful muscles working under his linen tunic, straining in his lower arms and wrists. Yet, he didn't look winded by his exertions. He lazily dipped the oars into the water, pushing them further and further upstream against the current. Timo leaned over the side, dipping his fingers into the cool water. He sighed softly in delight. He could feel the ocean in this water. It was faint, but definitely there, mixed with the strange fresh water that felt strange on his skin. Homesickness swamped him, making him dizzy. He missed his brothers and sisters so badly it ached. He missed Ivan's awkward teasing, Katerina's soft caresses and hugs, Toris's gentle laugh, Natalia's fingers running through his hair, Eduard's endless questions and conversations, and Raivis's soft, sweet voice singing duets with his. Toris was going to lifemate with Feliks by the next full moon and Timo wouldn't be there to kiss them for luck. Natalia was going to sing for Ivan's birthday and Timo wouldn't be there to duet with her and watch their brother smile and clap or see Natalia's rare smile in return. Katerina was nursing an abandoned dolphin pup and Timo wouldn't be there to see it grow or help Katerina take care of it. Timo would never be able to read on the beach with Eduard, or help restore his precious books now that Timo knew how to use pen and ink. He would never share a fruit with Raivis at the lagoon or tell him all their names, yet another gift Berwald had given him.

Tears pooled in Timo's eyes and he gasped. He sat up, wincing at the pain now in his thighs, and touched his cheeks in confusion. Saltwater was leaking from his eyes, surging over his lashes and down his cheeks. He rubbed at them, terror filling him that maybe all the merman in him was leaving, too. Now that he was human, maybe all his memories would leak out and they were leaking out with this strange pouring out of saltwater. But it only rushed out more and he was gasping and choking. Eyes widened in shock as warm, strong arms wrapped around his small frame. A heart beat was thudded against his ear and he could smell ale and sweat and roasted meat. He hadn't even noticed Berwald had ceased rowing.

"S'all right, Timo. It'll be all right. Ah'll protect ya fer as long as Ah'm alive. Don't cry, don't cry, now," Berwald was murmured softly, rocking Timo gently as if he were a small child.

Timo rubbed his face with the back of his hand and pressed himself closer to Berwald's heat. He sniffled, fingers clutching at linen, feeling muscle beneath. This was nice; being held so closely, large hands stroking his back. He smiled and pulled away just enough to see Berwald's face. Purple met ocean-blue and the smaller of the two nodded, smiling even though his eyes still shined. Berwald reached up with one hand and cupped Timo's jaw, thumb stroking the tears away that still lingered on Timo's cheekbone. Timo felt his heart thud against his ribs painfully, hopefully. Would Berwald kiss him now? Like this? Timo's eyes felt his eyelids fall, his lips parting, his cheeks reddening. Berwald swallowed, too aware of the position they were in- a king with an amnesic young boy. There was no excuse for this, for taking advantage of an innocent, beautiful boy. He wanted to, though, so much that it ached. He pulled away, cursing inwardly at how stupidly he had put the temptation there. Timo's eyes blinked open, baffled.

"'S time fer headin' back," Berwald grumbled. Timo stared at him wordlessly. Berwald ignored the boy's confusion and rowed them back to shore.

Timo let Berwald help him out of the skiff, mind whirling. He had been so sure Berwald was about to kiss him. What had stopped the man? Had Timo been too eager, maybe? Or maybe he hadn't been eager _enough_? They both froze as loud trumpets echoed through the kingdom. Timo glanced up, terror and excitement warring in his wide gaze. Berwald frowned and began to quicken his pace. Timo grasped Berwald's hand and tugged it, demanding an answer in the only way he could. Berwald grunted and swung Timo up into his arms, hurrying ever faster towards the abandoned carriage.

"M'betrothed is here," Berwald replied shortly, his tone flat. Timo's heart plummeted to his feet in shock. He wanted to know more, but how could he ask? He wanted to yell and scream – _why hadn't he been told?_ \- but why _should_ anybody tell the washed-up stranger the king had taken pity on? Timo was no one. Just a mute boy with a desperate need for help. He had no claim on the king or his personal life. He sat limply on the carriage bench where Berwald had placed him before swinging up next to him.

This line of reasoning didn't stop the despair from filling him. In fact, it only aggravated it, spurring it on until the world was dark around Timo. The pain in his legs and feet was suddenly ten times worse. He bit down on his lip, using every ounce of will to stop himself from crying more. He would get through this. Besides, just because he was betrothed didn't necessarily mean the end. Berwald didn't seem too happy as they drove towards the castle. He looked angry, his mouth a thin, flat line, his eyes flashing behind his spectacles. Perhaps Timo still had a chance to get true love's kiss. A betrothal didn't exactly equate true love. Timo clutched at his heart, repeating this much better advice over and over to himself.

They pulled into the castle courtyard just as the sun began to set. Berwald lifted Timo from the seat and purple eyes scanned the orange and pink skyline, dismay welling up high.

 _Second sunset_.

Timo limped besides Berwald without a sound. At the front steps, large groups of well-dressed men and women were standing and talking. One of the group stepped away from the rest, stepping towards Berwald as they neared. Even Timo's eyes widened as Berwald came to a sudden stop, tall frame rigid with shock. His large hands curled into fists and, so swiftly Timo almost missed it, he glanced from Timo to the newcomer, his eyes wide.

Though there were obvious differences, and they were by no means twins, but Timo and the other man looked similar enough that shocked gasps rang through the crowd. The other man was thinner, but just about Timo's height. They were both fair-skinned and their hair was the same white-gold shade. Both had large, purple eyes framed by pale lashes and both had slender hands. The man gazed at Timo without expression, a pale brow rising slowly. Timo flushed and huddled against Berwald's side. Berwald had gotten control on himself quickly and was now regarding the newcomer stoically, though his fists were still clenched.

"Yeh… yeh saved meh…" Berwald mumbled, his voice hoarse. Timo glanced up at him, mouth working furiously. _No, he didn't! I DID! What are you talking about!_

"It was I that found you on the beach," the other man began slowly, "but I did not save you. Another had pulled you from the water, but your rescuer fled before I could make it to your side." He bowed low and then gazed at Berwald, eyes half-lidded. "My name is Lukas Bondevik, Prince of Norgeland and your betrothed, your Majesty."

Timo glanced from one to the other, his fingers clutching Berwald's wrist. Berwald bowed, lips quirking up on the side. "You can call meh Berwald. Yeh may not have pulled me from the sea, but ya did get meh home. You, too, rescued meh."

"If you say so," Lukas acquiesced with a tilt of his head. His indigo eyes fell on Timo. "You look to be my younger brother's age. What is your name?"

Timo shook his head and shrunk further against Berwald side. He didn't want to like Lukas. He didn't want Berwald to like him either. _Don't smile at him! Don't smile at him like you smile at me!_ Timo screamed silently.

"He's called T'mo. He doesn't speak. S'yer brother here?"

Lukas nodded and waved towards yet another fair-haired boy. His hair was even paler, ivory in color. His eyes were a darker purple, almost indigo blue in color. His expression mirrored his brother's. He bowed quickly and then glanced at Timo. He smiled just a bit, as if he too wanted to huddle behind his taller brother's lean form. Timo smiled hesitantly back.

"My name is Emil, viscount of the Isle of Ice," Emil said simply. He held out his hand to Timo. "Why don't you eat with me? My brother and your king will be busy tonight."

Timo glanced towards Berwald's face. Those sea-colored eyes flicked down towards his upturned face. Lips pulled tight, hands clenching into fists. He nodded once. "Go."

Timo flinched away, pain filling his eyes. _He doesn't want me near him. I'm only in the way,_ Timo thought, heart aching. He rushed past Emil's kindly outstretched hand, once again crying silently. Behind him, Berwald made to follow and then forced himself to stay put.

"Who is that boy?" Lukas asked, his tone empty, but his eyes flashing. Emil was looking after Timo, frowning.

"Ah found him on the beach. He has no mem'ry. Only has a name," Berwald replied gruffly, still staring after him.

"I'll go after him. He was upset," Emil offered quickly. "Excuse me." He rushed after the strangely limping and bobbing Timo.

"Dinner?" Lukas asked, his eyebrow arching upwards again. Berwald nodded and held out his arm.

.

Timo threw himself on his bed, sobbing. What was he supposed to do? Berwald was obviously pushing him away now that his betrothed prince was here. Not only that, but Berwald remembered _Lukas_ as the one that saved him. He was still looking for the unknown singer that Timo knew to be himself, but Lukas was even more beautiful than Timo, slender and taller and a human prince. Though Timo was, too, a prince, he could bring nothing of his royal life with him, no land or riches to gift to his king for marriage. In the ocean, Timo knew Ivan had more than enough put away to give as an offering to any future alliance, but on land, Timo was just Timo. Mute, young, poor Timo.

A soft knock sounded on his door. It was ajar, Timo having been too in a hurry to close it properly. Emil slipped in and closed the door behind him just as Hana wriggled her way past his ankles. The little dog raced across the floor and flung herself up onto the bed, climbing and crawling over covers to get to Timo's prone form. Emil followed her and sat on the edge of the bed where Timo lay. Hana licked at Timo's ears and whimpered in confusion, making Emil smile slightly. He always had a soft spot for animals. He reached out and touched Timo's back.

Timo whirled around, eyes wide and red. He suddenly curled up, mouth stretched open wide as he clutched at his legs. Emil's eyes widened when he realized the mute boy was _screaming_. He stared, anxious and useless, until Timo's whole body relaxed, sinking into the bedding as he panted.

"Your legs pain you," Emil stated softly as he stroked Timo's damp forehead. Timo nodded, face grey. "And you're mute and have no memory. Just where do you come from?" Emil queried. Timo flinched and kept his eyes shut tight. "Would you like some water?"

At Timo's nod, Emil stood and walked towards the basin table. He poured water from the pitcher there into a small porcelain cup. When he handed it to Timo, the boy gulped it down eagerly.

"I think… I think King Berwald called you… Tuhmo?" Timo shook his head. "Temo?" Again, negative. Emil frowned. "Timo?" A nod. "Do you mind if I call you that?" A shake. "Thank you. Your dog is very cute."

Timo stared at Hana. _Is that what you are? A dog? What a funny word._ He smiled tremulously and stroked Hana's soft belly. She wriggled in delight.

"My brother is marrying his Majesty the dawn after next. They've been betrothed a long time, but they've never met officially before. My brother lived in a convent for a long time for his health. I never even met him until recently. And already he's leaving me," Emil said suddenly. Timo gaped at him. "I love my brother, but I have only been able to be with him for a very short time. Soon, I will have to go back home and I may not see my brother again for months. Maybe years," Emil broke off.

Timo reached forward and clasped Emil's tightly clenched fists. He smiled at Emil and patted his hands gently.

"Thank you. I told you because… because you're not the only one who's upset. I want you to know that I understand not wanting to let the one you love go, but sometimes you must. There's nothing we can do now," Emil said quietly. Timo's hands stilled and his eyes darkened.

 _No, you don't understand, Emil Bondevik. You_ _could never understand_ _, but thank you._ They sat in silence as the last of the sunset faded away and left them in the dark. It didn't take long for a servant to come light the fireplace and the candles, then to bring them their private supper. They kept silent, though; two lonely boys eating in the quiet twilight.

.

The next morning Timo woke early, startled to see that Emil had fallen asleep beside him, Hana snuggled between the warmth of their bodies. When Emil woke moments later they both smiled ruefully at each other.

"I don't even remember falling asleep," Emil said as he sat up. Timo shook his head, smiling. He tried to rise as well, only to curl up in pain, biting down on his lip to keep from crying. He flinched as Emil tore aside the covers and rubbed Timo's legs again. Then he sighed, welcoming the faint relief Emil's hands gave him. "Your accident must have been horrible for your legs to pain you so," Emil whispered. He stroked the pale, smooth skin of Timo calf, frowning. While he, and Lukas, too, weren't quite as _furry_ as Northern males tended to be, they still had fair hair on their legs. Timo's legs were as smooth as a child's, even smoother perhaps. He didn't seem to have even that soft, transparent down that even children did.

Timo was definitely hiding something in his silence.

Emil smiled up at Timo, shutting away his confusion behind a stone mask he'd learned from Lukas. "Let us watch sunrise together, Timo. The servants will be here with the morning meal soon. Are you feeling better?" At Timo's nod, Emil helped him to his feet and the boys broke their fast minutes later as the sun rose over the ocean's horizon.

The rest of the morning, after a hot, luxurious bath that Timo woodenly realized to be his last, they went out to the beach. Hana went with them, barking and yipping as she darted around their legs and over little hills of sand. Timo knew the little dog fully recognized him from their first meeting, unlike her master. It was much harder to confuse a creature mostly reliant on its nose. Sometimes, while they rested when the pain in Timo's legs became too much, she would sniff at his legs curiously, never quite sure why they were there instead of his fins. She never bit or threw herself against his legs like that first day, instead cautiously avoiding them and snuggling against his hips. A few times, when he was trembling with pain, face whiter than foam, she would lick his bare heels, trying to soothe the unseen wound there. Timo hadn't bothered with shoes that day, since the awkward contraptions only made the pain worse.

During one of their moments of rest, Emil set out food from the basket they'd brought with them. He answered questions Timo hadn't yet asked Berwald about where the food had come from or what something was called. Timo had brought down a little paper book full of blank pages that Berwald had bought him the day before and had slowly struggled through writing down the questions. The pen felt awkward and sometimes, even though he read quite well, he would forget how to write a letter or how to spell a word, but Emil would figure them out and answer the best he could. Finally, as the sun shined directly overhead, Timo asked a question he had wanted to ask all day.

 _Why are they getting married so soon if they have only just met?_ _Formally_. Timo wrote. Emil sighed.

"I did say they've been betrothed a while, yes? They've been _formally_ betrothed since my brother was born. Their wedding day, tomorrow, was chosen when my brother turned sixteen, two years ago. If it hadn't have been for his health, they might have married then. Instead, they've been exchanging letters since they could write. My brother... my brother has been in love with his Majesty for a very long time."

Timo's eyes widened. Emil shrugged.

"Apparently, his Majesty is quite eloquent on paper. Lukas said he always seemed so lonely, and yet able to read beyond what Lukas wrote. Lukas told me that his Majesty seemed so contained and controlled, but passionate in what he believed. Honest and simple, but close-mouthed when it came to keeping his secrets. I think… I think Lukas respects him and admires him and came to love him later. He's so different from Sir Køhler."

Timo gave him a puzzled frown.

"Sir Køhler is a friend of his Majesty's… sort of. He was appointed Lukas's guardian a long time ago. He and my brother… did _not_ get along. It was a love-hate relationship and they never got over the hating part," Emil explained, chuckling. "When Lukas came here to wait for me to arrive, he saw his Majesty for the first time. He knew it was him even though the last picture he saw of his Majesty was many years ago. He said, for the briefest moment, his Majesty opened his eyes and looked up at Lukas and Lukas _knew_ that he would love and protect his Majesty as long as he drew breath," Emil continued, his voice trailing off quietly at the end.

Timo clutched his tunic over his heart, feeling it beat painfully, falling into pieces in his chest. Emil reached over and touched his shoulder.

"Timo, there's nothing we can do. It's too late. They're getting married tomorrow at dawn and that's the end of it. I would offer to take you with me when I go back to the Isle of Ice," he smiled wryly as Timo shook his head rapidly, "but I knew you'd rather be near him than far away. If you change your mind, let me know. It'll hurt… watching them together."

Timo nodded slowly, but knew that he wouldn't be able to go with Emil if he had even wanted to go. If Berwald didn't give him true love's kiss by sundown _that night_ it would mean nothing anyway. He would cease to exist in a few hours. He stared out over the horizon, tears streaming down his face in silence. Emil reached out, hesitated, then clasped Timo's limp hands in his own.

"I'll always be here for you, Timo. Remember that. I'd like to think... that maybe... we are friends. I've never had... a friend before," Emil whispered. Timo turned to him, a bright smile on his damp face and nodded. Emil smiled back, his eyes shiny, but face dry. He spent years forcing back his own lonely tears. He probably forgot long ago how to truly cry like Timo did. Maybe Timo would help him remember and they could heal from their heartbreaks together.

.

High above the pair on a balcony overlooking the beach, Berwald and Lukas stood side-by-side staring down at the couple. Lukas glanced towards Berwald, blinked slowly, and then looked down at Berwald's tightly clenched fists.

"You care about the mute boy."

Berwald jerked in surprise and stared down at the man he would marry in less than twenty-four hours. He was so similar, yet so different, from Timo, from the singer-boy that still haunted his dreams. His mouth tightened and he looked away, frowning.

"Is he your lover?" Berwald shook his head firmly, mouth even tighter, his shoulders tense. Lukas instinctively knew this was shaky ground he walked on, but continued on anyway. "He is special to you, I know that, Berwald. When he looks at you, I know he loves you. Surely you've seen it, too."

"Ah have," Berwald replied bluntly, his tone harsh. Lukas ignored the implicit warning.

"He can't stay here, Berwald, not with the feelings between you. If you truly want to marry me, then you must choose. If you marry me with your feelings for him and his for you still left loose, then no one will be happy. It is unfair to me and to him, especially. If what you say is true, you are all he has, and you will force him to see every day your marriage to someone else, to know that just down the hall you're sleeping with _me_. And I... I will know that your unspoken feelings will never be resolved. How will I know... how will I know that when you make love to _me_ that you're not thinking of _him_?"

Berwald slammed his fist down on the railing, a low growl escaping him. Lukas didn't flinch, only looked up into that livid gaze calmly.

"Say the word and I will leave, Berwald," Lukas whispered.

"No."

Lukas waited.

"Yer right. 'S unfair t'yeh both. I have a duty t'yeh, t'mah kingd'm-"

"If that is your only reason for choosing me, then I refuse," Lukas interrupted harshly. Berwald stared at him, shocked. Lukas's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. "I care about you, Berwald. Whoever it is that haunts your heart, if it is not me, then it is not enough. If I cannot be the number one in your thoughts, then this alliance and marriage are a sham and I will refuse to surrender to that. You will cut him entirely from your heart, or I will go. Do not make us _both_ regret your decision, Berwald."

Berwald nodded slowly. He stared down at the pair on the beach, his mind whirring with words difficult to form aloud. Slowly, he came to his decision. "He's young, too young. Ah thought he was someone else, someone that answer'd every question in mah heart, but Ah can't rely on a boy without a voice t'be mah consort, mah companion. Ah can trust ya, understand ya. Ah know that Ah can share mah whole life wit' ya, but there are things Ah cannot tell Timo. Ah wanna protect 'im. Ah won' let 'im be mah equal, not like yeh."

Lukas touched Berwald's hand gently. "Can you love me truly, Berwald? Will you?"

Berwald paused, his eyes falling to the boy he thought was so many things, but who could never really be. "Ah can. Can yeh?" Berwald asked, his eyes meeting Lukas's squarely. A small, fleeting smile lifted Lukas's lips.

"I can."

.

Timo sat next to Emil a few places down from Berwald and Lukas late that afternoon. Outside, he could see the sun dipping closer and closer to the horizon. The delicious food, many of his newly found favorites, steamed enticingly in front of him, but it all tasted like sand. The pain in his legs was so intense, he could barely breathe now. Emil was constantly watching him, encouraging each tiny bite, every small sip of mead. Emil's anxiety was heart-warming, but Timo found it hard to care. It was so hard to smile. He kept looking towards Berwald, his heart in his eyes, begging for just one more glance from those stern, sea-mirroring eyes, but Berwald never glanced his way. His focus was so riveted on Lukas that Timo finally learned despair. Berwald _did_ love Lukas, had obviously forgotten about the singer-boy that saved his life, about the mute-boy whom shared his face. Hana whimpered beneath the bench Timo sat on, feeling the dark misery strengthen as the meal drew on. Then, Berwald stood and the crowd hushed. When Berwald spoke, he tried harder not to slur and to pronounce each word carefully. Timo smiled sadly, knowing the effort it cost him.

"Ev'ryone knows that Lukas and Ah have been engaged fer eighteen years. Tomorrow, at last, our kingd'ms will be formally allied at dawn. However, we have given thought t'the future of his brother and mah ward, Timo," Berwald said slowly. Timo and Emil straightened, confusion filling their faces. "Today, Ah officially named Timo mah ward and, as such, have award'd 'im a dowry. Lukas, the heir of Norgeland, has agreed t'bind his brother, heir of Isle of Ice, t'mah ward and furth'r seal our alliance."

In horror, Timo finally met Berwald's gaze. His face was stern, frowning, showing none of the emotions Timo had seen the day before in town. None of the gladness or heat his gaze had held while they danced. None of the longing when his sand-coated fingers brushed Timo's cheek so long ago on the beach.

Had he so easily forgotten?

Emil was helping raise Timo to his feet, bowing to his brother and Berwald with an inscrutable expression on his face, hiding the shock, the betrayal, even the small amount of relief. If it could be anyone, Emil was glad it was Timo. Timo wouldn't force Emil into loving him, wouldn't be loud or demanding or dismissive of his feelings for his older brother. If Emil could ever love anyone as much as he loved Lukas, it would be Timo, silent, kind, sad Timo. His hand squeezed around Timo's, a ripple of surprise at the chill of his skin and the slackness of his fingers. He glanced towards Timo. Unlike Emil, every emotion showed on Timo's innocent face. He mostly mirrored Emil's own emotions, but it was an overwhelming grief that took Emil's breath away. Grief and horror were etched starkly in the lines of Timo's pale face. _What was it that Timo was hiding?_ Emil wondered.

Suddenly, Timo bowed jerkily and, smiling briefly at Emil in apology, pulled his hand away. He rushed from the room, a tiny pale figure with a tiny white dog at his heels. He limped with every step, but didn't slow.

"I think Timo is too overcome with your generosity, your Majesty. He never expected you to gift him with so much," Emil smoothly lied as the court gaped in shocked silence. Many heads quickly nodded, but Berwald's eyes were still staring towards the exit, brows low. Emil may have fooled the lackeys, but he couldn't fool Berwald or Lukas, who also looked worried.

Emil resisted the urge to chase after Timo. He knew after this Timo would want to be alone. What little he knew of his new friend, his _betrothed_ now, he did know that Timo was a lot stronger than he let on. Beneath that innocent face and silence, Timo hid a very dark secret and a core of strength. Whatever it was that happened to him, Timo refused to let others pity him. He would want to come to terms with Berwald's sudden and complete rejection alone before allowing Emil back at his side. So Emil sat and pretended to eat as people congratulated him. Timo may have been poor and nameless, an object of sincere pity, but he was also well-liked. He was kind to servants, quietly humble, smiled at everyone alike, and their King had taken him under his wing; it was enough for them. Besides, it's not like the Isle of Ice was a huge piece of important land. The pitiful orphan wouldn't hold any great power and would be loyal to the kingdom in return for the King's beneficence towards him. If Emil, the viscount, didn't have a problem, who were they to care?

.

Timo rushed down to the sea, sobbing so hard he could barely draw a breath. The world was hazy around him, he felt dizzy, and no matter how many times he tried to wipe his face, there was still more to follow. As he rushed to the cove, now shadowed by the cliff walls, he didn't notice at first the dark figures bobbing on the surface. He stopped when his bare feet met the surf, his hands clenched into fists at his side. Then, he heard it. Soft singing that he'd heard a thousand times.

He looked up in disbelief, blinking his eyes to clear them. Finally he could make them out, waiting patiently just a few feet away from the beach. He rushed into the surf, hearing the ocean's song roaring in his ears. He fell to his knees in the midst of them, the water to his chest, as damp, cool arms gathered him into their embrace.

"Timo!" Six voices murmured, thick with relief and happiness that he was with them, his family, again.

He pulled back, staring around them, frowning for a moment. There was something... off about them. He stared at Katerina's strangely blank blue eyes in confusion. She didn't seem to notice his intense stare as she stroked his face and hair in tearful joy.

Then, Natalia handed over the dagger. He stared at it and then at them, a dawning comprehension on his features. He noticed how short her hair was and knew what price she had paid for the dagger. Horrified, he stared back at Katerina's _blind_ eyes.

"We paid it for you. All of us," Toris said softly.

"You must kill the mortal, Timo. If you kill him with this dagger before the sun falls, you can come _home_ ," Natalia murmured hoarsely. Timo flinched away. Large, familiar hands fell on his shoulders.

"Timo, you belong with us. Is your life worth less than that mortal's? You have so many that love you, that miss you. Come home, Timo," Ivan urged, his voice softer than it ever had been.

"You are worth so much to us, Timo. We each gave up what was most precious to us, because, no matter what we've lost now, it would be worse to lose you!" Raivis added, tears in his large violet blue eyes.

Timo stared at them, eyes wide, the question clear. Eduard smiled softly and rubbed his right wrist, absently. Timo gasped, realizing Eduard's _entire right hand_ was missing. The hand he wrote with, the one that so painstakingly tried to recreate the faded letters on water-stained pages.

"Raivis gave his sense of taste," Eduard said softly. Raivis looked away, refusing to meet Timo's eyes. "And Toris gave away the memory of himself that Feliks kept. If Toris were to wade in front of Feliks, even hold him, Feliks wouldn't even notice. Feliks would look right past him."

"Feliks and I talked about it. We both agreed it was worth it to keep you alive," Toris told Timo with a sad smile. "It's all right. When you come back, we'll go somewhere else, somewhere new, and it won't hurt so much."

Timo shook his head wildly and then froze, his shoulders high and tense. His family was willing to leave the palace for him, but that meant... Ivan... He stared at Ivan who merely smiled his friendly, give-nothing-away smile that left chills down Timo's spine.

"A crown is worth nothing if it cannot save the life of your youngest brother, da?" Ivan shrugged.

Timo hid his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs, overwhelmed by how much his family had sacrificed for him. Sacrificed to keep _him_ alive, to fix a mistake they believed prompted by impulsive infatuation. They _forgave_ him, _loved_ him still, while he barely gave them a second thought, only worrying about his own grief and heartache. He wished his voice was back, so he could scream and howl his pain away. Instead he could only sob silently, fruitlessly. A strong grip took his hand and shoved the shining dagger into his palm.

"For us, Timo," Natalia muttered.

"Come home, Timo," Katerina begged. She took his face in her hands and clumsily kissed his eyebrow, then his temple, and cheek.

"This was all worth it, little Timo. Aren't we worth the life of just one mortal man?" Ivan asked.

Toris moved forward and held Timo to his chest. "It'll hurt, Timo," he whispered. Of them all, Toris understood Timo's hesitation, knew that it was not simple infatuation that had led him on his path. "It'll hurt more than anything, but he doesn't love you like we do. Surely you see that? He isn't worth your pain. If he can't love you without your voice, if he can't see just how worthy you are of his love, then he doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve your _life_ , Timo."

Timo held on tightly, the dagger awkward and heavy in his head.

"We'll wait for you, Timo. We won't be far," Eduard promised.

"I'll sing for you, Timo, and you can taste for me. Together, we can be whole," Raivis added, smiling.

Timo slowly pulled away. He nodded slowly and got to his feet, hissing at the fiery hot pain in his limbs. He watched them swim back into the ocean, waving one last time before they ducked beneath the surface. He trudged back to the shore and met Hana cheerfully wagging her tail and staring up at him. He stared at the dagger before deliberately hiding it in his soaking wet clothing. Behind him, the sunset was blood-red.

He made his way up to Berwald's room, panting in exertion as he climbed the stairs. He had learned the back way, using the servants' stairwells to avoid staring eyes, so he used them now. It was early, maybe too early to find Berwald there, but he had to try. Perhaps Berwald was still at the banquet? Still, he trudged on, the pain so intense he could barely think. When he made it to Berwald's room, the door was ajar. He peeked in, frowning when he noticed it was empty. He stepped into the room, wondering in dismay why the door had been open. He heard a slight noise and turned, hand falling to the hidden dagger. There, on the balcony, Timo could see the tall figure of Berwald holding something under his chin. Timo's eyes widened and a different sort of pain filled him. The pain only increased as a low quivering moan, inhuman and haunting, filled the room.

 _That music!_ Berwald was making _that_ music! It had been him! It had been Berwald who had created the lovely melody so many weeks ago! The melody that had made Timo sing; the song that had driven Berwald to the beach to find the singer, to find _Timo._ It was the song that began it all. And all the love that Timo had ever felt came rushing back. Those ocean-eyes. That simple brush of fingers. That single, salty, sandy kiss on the beach. His whole body shuddered and the idea of sinking the blade into that heart, the heart that had beat beneath his ear as Berwald carried him so gently, was suddenly so distasteful, so disgusting, so _unbearable_ , that Timo knew he could never do it.

He would rather become sea foam than take the life of his beloved. No matter who Berwald loved, Timo would always love him. Would always love the ocean-eyed mortal that created haunting lonely music that spoke to his heart like nothing else ever had. The dagger slipped from his fingers, falling without a sound to the rug-covered floor.

_Love your prince, Berwald, my Berwald, and live. Live and be happy with him. Love him as I love you and it will be worth it. Everything will be worth it. Good-bye, my mortal love._

Timo fled from the room and Berwald's farewell song played on.

.

On the beach, Lovino waited. He stood tall, completely, beautifully naked. His flesh was golden, his scales glowing ruby in the last, dying rays of the sun. Timo smiled as Lovino held out his arms. Timo rushed to them, sighed in contentment as those warm arms held him close. How fitting that Timo should die with the sunset. It had always been his favorite time of day. He had always loved the way the last rays of the sun had dyed the ocean's surface a kaleidoscope of colors, never the same hues or pattern as the day before. The garden he tended at the palace had tried to mirror the breathtaking image, but it had never been enough. He stepped back and met Lovino's sad eyes.

"I knew you wouldn't do it. I hoped you would, but I knew you wouldn't. Silly little merboy, you love so much, give so much more, and yet you want nothing back. So selfless, so brave," Lovino whispered, caressing Timo's pale face with golden fingers. "Do not worry about your siblings. When you pass on, all what they paid will be returned to them." Timo heaved a sigh of relief. Lovino smiled sharply. Then, his warm fingers brushed Timo's throat. "One more song, Timo, before you go. Bless us all with your voice one more time."

In the distance, on the gentle ocean breeze, Timo could still hear Berwald's song playing. He opened his mouth and sang. Every emotion, every word he hadn't been able to say, every experience he hadn't been able to have, the love he had been denied, welled in his voice and even the sea was hushed by the beauty of Timo's last song. When he opened his eyes, Lovino was gone and the sun was low, too low. He stepped into the surf, foam rushing over his ankles, up his calves, to his knees, he was dissolving and the pain was gone. Still he sang as tears ran down his face, his final lament to his one true love.

His song was gone and all that was left was foam on the beach. He hovered in the air and felt voices around him, welcoming him, filled with awe and love.

_You can fly with us, dear Timo. We are spirits of the air. Unlike mortals, immortals have no soul. If, however, you travel with us, you can have a soul and you can go to the place that mortal souls dwell after death, a place of never ending peace. You must, however, collect happiness. For every happy, innocent child you find, a year will be taken, one year closer to peace. However, for every crying, naughty child, a year will be added on. Come with us, Timo, and find happiness with us._

The last Timo saw of his homeland was Berwald standing on the balcony, Lukas at his side. The only thing that remained of Timo's presence was a patch of foam on the rug where a dagger had lain. Even that dried away unnoticed.

.

Berwald let the violin fall to his side, letting the ocean breeze dry what tears he had allowed himself. Lukas's pale, soft hand clasped Berwald's wrist.

"Where… where are Em'l an' T'mo?" Berwald asked roughly, his eyes on the empty beach. No, not empty. A tiny dot of white showed that Hana had somehow gotten out and made it down to the beach. _Odd_ …

"Emil went to Timo's room. He slept there last night as well. They'll be fine," Lukas replied evenly. Berwald nodded woodenly. "He won't be gone forever, Berwald. In a few years, maybe even less than that, he'll grow up and move on. You've given him a future, Berwald. What more could you have done?"

Berwald nodded again, his eyes on the lonely dog on the beach, staring out over the ocean towards the dark horizon. When he played moments ago, he had sworn he heard the voice of the singer, the boy that looked so much like Timo. He said his good-byes to the singer and the singer to him. Maybe now his ghost would no longer haunt Berwald, no longer tie him to the foundling boy on the beach named Timo. Now both of them could grow, as Lukas said, and it would be all right.

There would always be another day to bridge the empty space between them, to heal the hurt, to become simply friends. There would always be another sunset to share while sipping hot tea.

_~FIN~_


	6. Sea Foam Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending to the last chapter. I couldn't leave it so tragically. It hurt.

Sea Foam

The next morning Timo woke early, startled to see that Emil had fallen asleep beside him; Hana snuggled between the warmth of their bodies. When Emil woke moments later they both smiled ruefully at each other.

"I don't even remember falling asleep," Emil said as he sat up. Timo shook his head, smiling. He tried to rise as well, only to curl up in pain, biting down on his lip to keep from crying. Cold air slapped him, making him flinch, as Emil tore aside the covers. Blessedly warm hands kneaded Timo's legs. Then he sighed, welcoming the faint relief Emil's hands gave him. "Your accident must have been horrible for your legs to pain you so," Emil whispered. He stroked the pale, smooth skin of Timo calf, frowning. While he, and Lukas, too, weren't quite as furry as Northern males tended to be, they still had fair hair on their legs. Timo's legs were as smooth as a child's, even smoother perhaps. He didn't even seem to have that soft, transparent down that even children did.

Timo was definitely hiding something in his silence.

Emil smiled up at Timo, shutting away his confusion behind a stone mask he had learned from watching Lukas.

"Let us watch sunrise together, Timo. The servants will be here with the morning meal soon. Are you feeling better?" At Timo's nod, Emil helped him to his feet and the boys broke their fast minutes later as the sun rose over the ocean's horizon. Timo knew the wedding would be at sunset. _How apt_ , he thought. Barely twelve hours until it was all over.

The rest of the morning, after a hot, luxurious bath that Timo woodenly realized to be his last, they were out on the beach. Hana went with them, barking and yipping as she darted around their legs and over little hills of sand. Timo knew the little dog fully recognized him from their first meeting, unlike her master. It was much harder to confuse a creature mostly reliant on its nose. Sometimes, while they rested when the pain in Timo's legs became too much, she would sniff at his legs curiously, never quite sure why they were there instead of his fins. She never bit or threw herself against his legs like that first day, instead cautiously avoiding them and snuggling against his hips. A few times, when he was trembling with pain, face whiter than foam, she would lick his bare heels trying to soothe the unseen wound there. Timo hadn't bothered with shoes that day, since the awkward contraptions only made the pain worse.

During one of their moments of rest, Emil set out food from the basket they'd brought with them. He answered questions Timo hadn't yet asked Berwald about where the food had come from or what the different things were called. Timo had brought down a little paper book full of blank pages that Berwald had bought him the day before and had slowly struggled through writing down the questions. The pen felt awkward and sometimes, even though he read quite well, he would forget how to write a letter or how to spell a word, but Emil would figure it out and answer the best he could. Finally, as the sun shined directly overhead, Timo asked a question he had wanted to ask all day.

 _Why are they getting married so soon if they have only just met? Formally._ Timo wrote. Emil sighed.

"I did say they've been betrothed a while, yes? They've been formally betrothed since my brother was born. Their wedding day, today, was chosen when my brother turned sixteen, two years ago. If it hadn't have been for his health, they might have married then. Instead, they've been exchanging letters since they could write. I think… I think if my brother had a choice, he might've chosen another, but… my brother strongly believes in duty. Besides, he told me he truly admires his Majesty."

Timo stared at him, sitting perfectly still and waiting for more. Emil shrugged.

"Apparently, his Majesty is quite eloquent on paper. Lukas said he always seemed so lonely, and yet able to read beyond what Lukas wrote. Lukas told me that his Majesty seemed so contained and controlled, but passionate in what he believed. Honest and simple, but close-mouthed when it came to keeping his secrets. Lukas… Lukas doesn't like giving up control over himself, so he respects that about his Majesty. His Majesty is… is so different from Sir Køhler." Emil sighed.

Timo gave him a puzzled frown. Emil smiled at him sadly.

"Sir Køhler is a friend of his Majesty's… sort of. He was appointed Lukas's guardian a long time ago. He and my brother… did not get along for a long time. And then… something changed. I truly thought my brother would call off the wedding, but then he wrote me a letter to meet him here," Emil explained. "When Lukas came here to wait for me to arrive, he saw his Majesty for the first time. I think he refuses to admit he was wrong in choosing duty over love, so he tells himself he loves his Majesty," Emil continued, his voice trailing off quietly at the end.

Timo clutched his tunic over his heart. Lukas's story was sad in its own right, but the idea that _Berwald_ would be even lonelier with a spouse as lonely as himself hurt Timo more than the idea of their marriage. Emil reached over and touched his shoulder.

"Timo, there's nothing we can do. It's too late. They're getting married at sunset tonight and that's the end of it. I would offer to take you with me when I go back to the Isle of Ice," he smiled wryly as Timo shook his head rapidly, "but I knew you'd rather be near him than far away. If you change your mind, let me know. It'll hurt… watching them together."

Timo nodded slowly, but knew that he wouldn't be able to go with Emil if he had even wanted to go. If Berwald didn't give him true love's kiss by sundown that night it would mean nothing anyway. He would cease to exist in a few hours. He stared out over the horizon, tears streaming down his face in silence. Emil reached out, hesitated, and then clasped Timo's limp hands in his own.

"I'll always be here for you, Timo. Remember that. I'd like to think... that maybe... we are friends. I've never had... a friend before," Emil whispered. Timo turned to him, a bright smile on his damp face and nodded. Emil smiled back, his eyes shiny, but face dry. He spent years forcing back his own lonely tears. He probably forgot long ago how to cry sincerely like Timo did. Maybe Timo would help him remember and they could heal from their heartbreaks together.

.

High above the pair on a balcony overlooking the beach, Berwald and Lukas stood side-by-side staring down at the couple. Lukas glanced towards Berwald, blinked slowly, and then looked down at Berwald's tightly clenched fists.

"You care about the mute boy."

Berwald jerked in surprise and stared down at the man he would marry in less than twenty-four hours. He was so similar, yet so different, from Timo, from the singer-boy that still haunted his dreams. His mouth tightened and he looked away, frowning.

"Is he your lover?" Berwald shook his head firmly, mouth even tighter, his shoulders tense. Lukas instinctively knew this was shaky ground he walked on, but continued on anyway. "He is special to you, I know that, Berwald. When he looks at you, I know he loves you. Surely you've seen it, too."

"Ah have," Berwald replied bluntly, his tone harsh. Lukas ignored the implicit warning.

"He can't stay here, Berwald, not with the feelings between you. If this marriage is to work, the only people in this relationship have to be us two. Leaving your feelings unresolved will not help any of us! You'll only break that boy's heart. Is that what you want, Berwald?"

Berwald slammed his fist down on the railing, a low growl escaping him. Lukas didn't flinch, only looked up into that livid gaze calmly.

"Say the word and I will leave, Berwald," Lukas whispered.

"No."

Lukas waited.

"Yer right. 'S unfair t'yeh both. Ah have a duty t'yeh, t'mah kingd'm-"

"If that is your only reason for choosing me over Timo, then, for your sake, I must refuse," Lukas interrupted. Berwald stared at him, shocked. Lukas's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. "I care about you, Berwald, so I'll tell you the truth," he looked away, dark eyes unreadable, "I gave up on love for duty, Berwald. I, too, loved someone. I told myself that my duty to my land was more important, and I had to watch his heart break in his eyes when I told _him_. I broke something inside this person, this unbreakable, untameable… _force_ that he was, and _I_ broke what I loved best in this world. In return, I broke something in _me_. If you love this Timo as I suspect you do, then I don't want the same regret and emptiness inside you that I have. Does a marriage really need two broken people?"

Silence fell between them, only sounds their breath and the wind. Berwald stared down at the pair on the beach, his mind whirring with words difficult to form aloud. "If… if yeh could go back and choose again, would yeh choose the same?"

Lukas smiled, a sharp bitter smirk with no warmth, self-mocking and pain-filled. "No offense, Berwald, but no. It took losing him to realize how much I needed him."

Berwald's brows lowered, his enigmatic eyes dark and troubled. "Ah can't… Ah can't marry him. He doesn' r'member his name, or his fam'ly, he can't even speak. How can Ah possibly ask him… my duty to my kingd'm… he shook his head briskly, the words tumbling over themselves in confusion. Lukas frowned.

"Sometimes following your heart is more important, Berwald. How can you truly be wise and good, when the best of you, the one you love, can't be at your side?"

Berwald shook his head again. "It's askin' too much of him and of my people. He can never be the lead'r they need, and he would never feel comfort'ble with responsibilities he can't p'rform. Ah can't be selfish for mah own sake, but… Ah don't need t'take yeh with meh. Go back t'him," Berwald urged. Lukas shook his head, that derisive smirk still on his lips.

"It's too late for me. He won't come back for me and I won't degrade myself and ask him to take me back. I have too much pride for that," Lukas scoffed lightly. He glanced up at Berwald. "If you truly think that marrying him won't work, for _his_ sake and your kingdom, then I will stay with you. Maybe we're both missing something… some _one_ important, but at least we can respect and like each other. I have feeling that you will understand me better than anyone else in the world."

Berwald nodded slowly. "Ah feel the same." With one last look at the pale-haired boys on the beach, the two men turned back to the room to ready for the wedding ceremony.

.

Emil got to his feet, dusting wet sand from his breeches and holding out his hand for Timo. Timo glanced at Emil's hand with a grimace.

"I must return to the castle to prepare for the ceremony. I am to give my brother away. Even if you don't want to go to the wedding, you should go inside and rest. It will be easier reaching the top of the cliff path with me to aid you. I know your legs pain you even more now than this morning," Emil explained, showing his considerable insight. Timo gaped at him before slowly shaking his head. "You're going to stay here for the rest of the day?" Emil stated in shock. Timo nodded his head affirmative. Emil sighed and shrugged. "I'll come back for you after the ceremony then. I doubt you will want to sleep alone tonight. I'll leave what is left of lunch with you. Finish that tea slowly, so you don't get dehydrated in this sun, all right?"

At Timo's nod and smile, Emil turned to go. He halted as a cool, smooth hand grabbed his suddenly. He looked back to see Timo's big, beautiful eyes filled with tears. _Thank you_ , he mouthed. Emil nodded. The pale hand fell to the sand and Emil slowly began his trek back to the castle. He made it to the top of the cliffs and looked back, frowning softly. For some reason, he was frightened that he'd never see his silent friend ever again. But that was preposterous. Where could Timo go with damaged legs, no money, and no voice? He forced himself to continue on, ignoring the foreboding in his heart that whatever secret Timo held, it was an unhappy one.

On the beach, Timo watched the surf reach with greedy white fingers up the gold sand. The sight of the foam made a cold shiver run down his spine. It wouldn't be much longer until he joined the mindless, unfeeling mass of white froth at the sea's edge. Just how many poor souls had joined the innocent-looking bubbles because of a fruitless love? If he had remained a merman, he would have lived for untold centuries. Sea creatures didn't hunt mermen and only by accident, or by human's hand, did a merman ever die. He had never questioned what would happen after death, because death had never looked him in the face. He did age some, but once he reached his destined size, he would stop aging and only his experience would grow. Now, he had to face the inevitable fact that he would cease to exist. Only memories would be left. There was nothing for him after death, no soul to live on, whatever a soul happened to be.

Berwald's love would have given him a soul, so they must be beautiful things indeed. Maybe… maybe Berwald couldn't love him because he could feel that something was _missing_ in Timo? That must be it. That is what Lovino meant. Timo, the immortal-born, was too empty for a mortal soul to love. His dream to be with Berwald had been doomed from the start and he hadn't listened. It was all _his_ fault he was going to disappear. Timo drew his legs up to his chest, wincing in pain, and pressed his eyes to his knees.

How stupid he had been, to believe in love.

He glanced up sharply, blinking away the tears that formed. He knew those voices on the wind, the voices that melded with the roaring of the surf and throbbing of the sea's depth. _My family._

He scrambled to his feet, tripping in his haste and from the sharp piercing in his limbs. He gave up trying to walk and crawled toward the water, Hana yipping in excitement at his heels. The feel of the water soothed his aching legs as nothing else had and, in relief, let the outgoing tide pull him into his family's waiting embrace.

"Timo!" Six voices murmured, thick with relief and happiness that he was with them, his family, again.

He pulled back, staring around them, frowning for a moment. There was something... off about them. He stared at Katerina's strangely blank blue eyes in confusion. She didn't seem to notice his intense stare as she stroked his face and hair in tearful joy.

Then, Natalia handed over the dagger. He stared at it and then at them, a dawning comprehension on his features. He noticed how short her hair was and knew what price she had paid for the dagger. Horrified, he stared back at Katerina's _blind_ eyes.

"We paid it for you. All of us," Toris said softly.

"You must kill the mortal, Timo. If you kill him with this dagger before the sun falls, you can come home," Natalia murmured hoarsely. Timo flinched away. Large, familiar hands fell on his shoulders.

"Timo, you belong with us. Is your life worth less than that mortal's? You have so many that love you, that miss you. Come home, Timo," Ivan urged, his voice softer than it ever had been.

"You are worth so much to us, Timo. We each gave up what was most precious to us, because, no matter what we've lost now, it would be worse to lose you!" Raivis added, tears in his large violet blue eyes.

Timo stared at them, eyes wide, the question clear. Eduard smiled softly and rubbed his right wrist, absently. Timo gasped, realizing Eduard's entire right hand was missing. The hand he wrote with, the one that so painstakingly tried to recreate the faded letters on water-stained pages.

"Raivis gave his sense of taste," Eduard said softly. Raivis looked away, refusing to meet Timo's eyes. "And Toris gave away the memory of himself that Feliks kept. If Toris were to wade in front of Feliks, even hold him, Feliks wouldn't even notice. Feliks would look right past him."

"Feliks and I talked about it. We both agreed it was worth it to keep you alive," Toris told Timo with a sad smile. "It's all right. When you come back, we'll go somewhere else, somewhere new, and it won't hurt so much."

Timo shook his head wildly and then froze, his shoulders high and tense. His family was willing to leave the palace for him, but that meant... Ivan... He stared at Ivan who merely smiled his friendly, give-nothing-away smile that left chills down Timo's spine.

"A crown is worth nothing if it cannot save the life of your youngest brother, da?" Ivan shrugged.

Timo hid his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs, overwhelmed by how much his family had sacrificed for him. Sacrificed to keep him alive, to fix a mistake they believed prompted by impulsive infatuation. They forgave him, loved him still, while he barely gave them a second thought, only worrying about his own grief and heartache. He wished his voice was back, so he could scream and howl his pain away. Instead he could only sob silently, fruitlessly. A strong grip took his hand and shoved the shining dagger into his palm.

"For us, Timo," Natalia muttered.

"Come home, Timo," Katerina begged. She took his face in her hands and clumsily kissed his eyebrow, then his temple, and cheek.

"This was all worth it, little Timo. Aren't we worth the life of just one mortal man?" Ivan asked.

Toris moved forward and held Timo to his chest. "It'll hurt, Timo," he whispered. Of them all, Toris understood Timo's hesitation, knew that it was not simple infatuation that had led him on his path. "It'll hurt more than anything, but he doesn't love you like we do. Surely you see that? He isn't worth your pain. If he can't love you without your voice, if he can't see just how worthy you are of his love, then he doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve your life, Timo."

Timo held on tightly, the dagger awkward and heavy in his head.

"We'll wait for you, Timo. We won't be far," Eduard promised.

"I'll sing for you, Timo, and you can taste for me. Together, we can be whole," Raivis added, smiling.

Timo slowly pulled away. He nodded slowly and got to his feet, hissing at the fiery hot pain in his limbs. He watched them swim back into the ocean, waving one last time before they ducked beneath the surface. He trudged back to the shore and met Hana cheerfully wagging her tail and staring up at him. He stared at the dagger before deliberately hiding it in his soaking wet clothing. Behind him, the sunset was blood-red.

.

Berwald stood in front of the gathered assembly, frowning darkly as he waited for Lukas's cue. He was resplendent in a dark blue silk tunic over snowy white undershirt with loose sleeves; a large golden lion rampant was embroidered over his chest- the emblem of his nation. His bright eyes were darting over the crowd, concern mounting as each face refused to rearrange itself into Timo's lovely features. Where could the boy be? He turned to Emil, whom tore at his bottom lip and stared towards the rear of the huge chapel built into the western side of the castle. … Staring towards the beach…

Berwald's eyes widened as a thought struck him. _Had Emil left Timo on the beach?_ For some reason, the thought filled Berwald's gut with fear. He couldn't help but remember that unconscious figure stretched over the golden sand, naked and pale and beautiful, and then think, irrationally, that the sea would take back the gift it had given him. Why shouldn't the sea take back the boy that Berwald couldn't love enough, couldn't appreciate enough, to choose? Berwald and Lukas had decided just hours ago that Emil and Timo would be betrothed, since Berwald was willing to adopt Timo formally as his ward. It was the only way Berwald could protect Timo and give him a life he deserved, free of pain or strife. It was also an unspoken desire to keep Timo close. Even though little Timo would depart to Isle of Ice, he would still return frequently to Berwald's kingdom to visit his brother-in-law through Emil and Berwald would know he was safe and whole and happy.

And now, without the least doubt, Berwald was sure it was the wrong choice. Timo, fey, silent, lovely Timo, was going to disappear.

He strode across the altar to Emil, causing the young boy's dark eyes to widen, startled.

"Where is he?" Berwald growled. Whispers began to grow in the pews, but he ignored them. He had to know, had to make sure…

"On the beach. He couldn't bear to come," Emil answered, words bursting out unbidden. Berwald's face was shadowed and fearsome in its anger and desperation. Not even Lukas would have been unmoved by the fierce scowl.

Berwald's stomach plummeted. He rushed past Emil, long legs eating up the long distance past the countless people. Many got to their feet in shock and protest, gasps ringing out and echoing in the cavernous annex. Lukas stepped out from the small chamber he had been waiting in, his own dark purple and scarlet clothes as splendid as Berwald's. One look at Berwald's face and Lukas was sure he knew what was wrong. He turned to follow after his would-be husband just in time for the huge double doors to be thrown open.

In the doorway, a tall man with messy golden hair and bright blue eyes stood panting and chest heaving. Sweat glistened on his tanned face and the gleam of chainmail just showed under the dark blue of his surcoat. Metal greaves were buckled over his scarlet breeches and black leather, knee-high boots. Shining gauntlets attached to thick leather gloves hung from his wide leather belt. A sheath was strapped to his back by a wide belt across his chest and it held a huge axe, bigger than the man who carried it, who, standing upright, could meet Berwald eye-to-eye.

For a moment, Berwald's focus broke. He stared at his long-time friend, Christen Køhler, Knight of the Realm and minor baron of a small peninsula of land across the bay from southern most point of Berwald's kingdom. Christen stared at Berwald, then glanced towards Lukas, who stood at Berwald's side, and his shoulders slumped briefly.

"It's already over?" Christen asked, his voice low and defeated.

"Yeh said yeh weren't coming…" Berwald broke off, absolutely flabbergasted.

"It's not. It's not done, Christen," Lukas spoke up suddenly. The use of Christen's given name cued Berwald in immediately. He knew that the two had spent more than ten years in each other's company, as knight and charge, but Lukas had only had scathing report of his guardian; and Christen, when he _did_ write, said nothing less than condemning. The way Christen and Lukas were looking at each other now, though, told Berwald a completely different story.

"You mean it?" Christen asked, stepping towards Lukas. Lukas's mouth twisted up to the side.

"Not for the lack of trying. I was just about to walk when Berwald broke ceremony," Lukas retorted. Christen grimaced.

"You're still playing hard to get. Well, forget that. I'm not giving you up. Berwald, sorry old buddy, but I'm taking him back," Christen announced, his voice ringing through the hall. More gasps and even a slight shriek (whether from shock or excitement, it was too hard to tell) followed Christen's words.

Berwald's eyebrow rose, amusement warring with anxiety. He needed to get to the beach, but with this idiot blocking the way and attempting to kidnap his betrothed he couldn't see how.

"You can't just "take me back!" You act like I'm some horse you lent him," Lukas snapped, punching Christen in the gut. A loud whoosh of air exploded from the knight who bent over double, clutching his stomach. He glanced up, blue eyes a little teary, his mouth grinning, as Lukas shook his bruised knuckles, hissing.

"Didja forget I'm wearing chainmail, darling?" he joked. He recovered quickly, scooped up the tiny blond and threw him over his shoulder. He ignored the flailing legs and arms, wincing a little, and grinning maniacally. "Sorry, my love, but it's for your own good," he laughed boisterously. He looked back to Berwald. "Do you really mind? You can still have your alliance without the marriage, right?"

Berwald shrugged. "We could. If Lukas really wants yeh-"

"WHO WANTS THIS BLOCKHEAD? I'LL KILL HIM!" Lukas roared, voice barely muffled by the surcoat in his face.

"Ah won' stop yeh," Berwald finished.

"Thanks, buddy! I knew you'd understand. So, yeah, do what you were doing. I'm gonna go elope with him now."

"LIKE HELL YOU WILL! I REFUSE TO ELOPE! PUT ME DOWN!"

With a cheery wave, Christen left. Emil stepped up next to Berwald, his mouth curved up a little to the side.

"You could tell my brother was really happy, couldn't you?"

"Yeah. Odd, the both of 'em."

"I'm not going to marry you, just so you know. You better go find someone else before he disappears, don't you think?" Emil suggested wryly. "I'll discuss the change with the priest."

"Yeh do that. Thanks," Berwald agreed before continuing towards the beach.

Emil sighed, not relishing the mopping up job he'd have to do. The idea of their king marrying a mute boy, however well-liked, would not be easy to accept. After the scene his brother and his idiot lover caused, though, maybe it would be easier. Who knew? After this, though, Emil was going to guilt his brother into allowing him a change of scene. Maybe the Orient. There was that Britannian territory where a lot of nobles vacationed. Kong Hong or something like that? Yeah, that sounded all right. Emil turned towards the loudly excited crowd.

.

Berwald ran towards the cliffs, boots thudding on grass as he cut through the palace gardens. He prayed desperately as he ran that the sea hadn't yet taken Timo. He was on the sandy path through the hills above the cove when he heard Hana's high-pitched yipping. The small white puppy was flying over the path, sand scattering every which way behind her. For a second, he thought he was too late, but those were happy barks, not shrill, panicked yelping. Sure enough, just over the next rise, Berwald could see the petite form of Timo limping in his direction. Timo halted, his stance wobbling as he stared down the path at the tall king waiting there.

Purple eyes widened as Berwald continued forward. He could feel the dagger, heavy and cold in his hand. The last sunset was all around him, painting Berwald the colors of rose and gold and orange, making him more glorious than Timo could remember him ever being and yet reminding him of the first moment he saw him. He wanted to run to Berwald, throw his arms around his narrow waist, breathe in the warm, heady scent of him, feel his large hands on his back, his face, his lips gliding over his own. But surely this was a fool's dream. Berwald could never marry a mute boy with no name. He only came out here out of worry, not love. Prince Bondevik might have even encouraged Berwald's action through Emil's prompting.

The sunset was low now and Timo could feel his limbs become weak, weightless. He held up the dagger, staring at the fine sharp edge, imagining the blade sinking into Berwald's chest, ending the pain, the heart ache, the despair inside him.

But there was no relief in the thought. He would rather die himself. As long as Berwald kept breathing, then what did it matter if Timo lived? Berwald's life meant more to Timo than anything ever had. He could never destroy that which was most precious to him, more precious than his own heartbeat.

He looked up, eyes wide with fear and pain, as Berwald stood before him. Those beautiful ocean eyes glanced down to Timo's hand. Then, he looked directly into Timo's gaze.

"Ah don't know why, Timo, but if yeh must, then Ah won't stop yeh. Ah realized somethin' a minute ago. No matter who Ah marry, Ah'll never forget yeh. Ah want to protect yeh and care fer yeh fer the rest of mah life. Yer life means more t'meh than mehself," Berwald told him quietly. Timo clutched the knife to his chest, to the wild thudding of his heart. "So kill meh, then, T'mo, if yeh must."

Timo shook his head, backing away. Berwald was so close to saying the right words, but there wasn't enough time now. It was already over. The sea was calling him and the dagger was so heavy. Even if Berwald could say it, he would still marry Lukas. It was his obligation, his duty, and surely Timo would still die. How could Timo ever stand at Berwald's side with his legs becoming more painful every day? How could Timo rule as Berwald's consort if he couldn't even speak? How could Timo be an asset to Berwald's kingdom if he didn't even have a name? Prince Bondevik was everything Timo could never be as a mortal. Their love was still destined to die and therefore Timo's end would still come. Maybe true love's kiss would allow him to live, but seeing Berwald with Prince Bondevik, knowing that they shared a life Timo could never have, would kill Timo as surely as the dagger would kill Berwald.

Timo turned on his heel and ran, ignoring both Berwald's protest and the screaming of his abused legs and feet.

He would take his destiny in his own hands. He would welcome the end and then Berwald could have a happily ever after with Prince Bondevik and Timo would never have to see the life denied him. He would rather die quickly, returned to the sea, his home, than die slowly and lonely as a mortal man.

Berwald raced behind Timo, wondering how the tiny, limping boy could run so _quickly_ when just days ago he couldn't even balance. He couldn't even balance properly _a few moments ago_. His long legs, though, were helping him catch up. Timo made it to the cove's path and scurried down, pebbles and sand flying everywhere. If it weren't for Hana suddenly getting between Berwald's legs and tripping him, he might have caught up in time to grab him. The small dog raced after Timo, barking in excitement, thinking this was all a game. Berwald cursed and got to his feet, wincing as pain flared in his ankle. When he realized he'd twisted it, his curses grew in virulence. Of all the stupid… He limped down the narrow path, trying not to stumble and fall to his death (at the very least a few broken bones). Timo wasn't too far ahead, despite Berwald's setback. He narrowed his eyes and quickened his pace.

Timo made to the beach, chest heaving and breath coming in whistling pants. He didn't pause to look back. It would only slow him. Hana jumped and barked around him, but Timo ignored her. He felt the hot sand become damp and dense beneath his bare feet and he rejoiced even as he despaired. Foam rushed over his toes and he flung back his arm. With a mighty heave, he sent the dagger flying.

 _Take it back, Lovino! Take it back and return my siblings' payments! I don't want it! I'll never want it!_ Timo screamed silently to the sea, tears falling down his face. _I will always love him!_

Far in the distance (in the back of his mind, he was amazed at the distance he'd thrown the thing), the dagger fell to the ocean. He grinned, wheezing and sobbing as it disappeared. A gasp wrenched from him as large hands grabbed his shoulders and tugged him around.

"What the hell is goin' on?" Berwald growled, fingers tight enough to bruise on Timo's shoulders. "Who the hell are yeh!"

Timo smiled briefly and reached out to brush Berwald's lips. Cool fingers traced the outline of his mouth, making Berwald's eyes widen.

"But… but yeh can't sing…" he murmured. Timo only shrugged, smiling sadly. "What have Ah done? All this time… Ah was too blind t'see…"

His eyes widened further and he gripped Timo's wrists. His hands were pale, so pale, and becoming transparent as Berwald watched. Timo pulled himself away and Berwald could see that the white foam was slowly crawling up his legs as well.

"What's… what's happenin'?" Berwald croaked. "Make it stop, T'mo! Stay here!"

Timo shook his head slowly. _Good bye, Berwald_ , he mouthed slowly.

"Timo!" Berwald stepped into the surf, cupped Timo's startled, pale face in his hands. "Don' leave meh, T'mo. Ah love yeh! Ah want yeh t'be at mah side forever. Don't leave," Berwald begged. Even as Timo's torso became foam, Berwald's lips fell over Timo.

Purple eyes widened, heart beating so loudly he couldn't even hear the roar of the sea at his back. This kiss was nothing like the one before it. His lips were smooth and warm, but they tasted like the summer air and sunlight, no trace of the sea on his lips. No sand or salt. Only Berwald and sunlight. With a shuttering sigh, Timo sunk against Berwald's chest, rising on his tiptoes to press closer to the warmth of Berwald's lips. Hands ran through fair hair, down Timo's back, pulling him up and closer, closer, until their entire bodies were fit together. He could feel Berwald's heart beating so rapidly with his own and it was glorious, breath-taking. At the damp sweep of Berwald's tongue, Timo parted his lips and felt his world rock beneath his feet. He clutched at Berwald's shoulders, desperately tangled in Berwald's taste and smell and touch.

And the boy in Berwald's arms became solid, the foam only lapping at their ankles as they kissed and kissed again. The sun sank beneath the horizon and the little dog barked and howled, but still they were enmeshed in each other. Finally, Berwald pulled away and looked down into Timo's awed and flushed face.

"Yeh stayed," Berwald whispered, tracing Timo's soft cheekbone, wondering at the warmth there. Timo had never felt so warm before, always so cool and pale.

"It doesn't hurt any longer," Timo breathed aloud.

Both froze, unable to believe it.

"Yeh spoke!" Berwald exclaimed. Timo laughed aloud, amazement high.

"I can speak! I can speak again! I never thought- And my legs, Berwald- Berwald, I can finally say your name! Berwald!" Timo cried, unable to finish a thought as he laughed and cried.

They kissed again, breathless and giddy.

"I love you, Berwald. I love you! It was always me, you know that, don't you? It was always me and it was always you," Timo said, letting flood all the words he hadn't been able to say.

"Yeah, yeah, Ah know. Ah'm sorry, T'mo," Berwald murmured, holding Timo as close as he could, ignoring the wet chill of Timo's clothes.

"It's all right," the once-merman murmured happily, his arms around Berwald's narrow wasit. Timo's eyes widened suddenly. He pushed Berwald away, anger filling him. "Oh, you _idiot!_ What have you done!" Berwald stared at him, tongue-tied at the tiny rage-filled boy who just moments ago was laughing in joy. "I _wanted to go!_ And now I can't! Now I'll have to die a mortal! Now I'll spend the rest of this cursed life watching you with Prince Bondevik! Don't you realize that you took away my only escape, you stupid, stupid mortal?" Timo shouted, stomping his foot in the surf.

"Ah'm not marryin' Lukas," Berwald forced out past his shock. Timo froze, incredulity written plainly on his face. "Mah friend just came an' eloped with him. Ah knew Ah wanted t' be with yeh, though. Ah was comin' t'find yeh when he showed up," Berwald explained.

Timo blinked and then looked away, trying not to hope. "It doesn't matter. On land, I'm nothing more than a nameless boy. I can bring you nothing. Even where I come from, marriage comes with a price, especially between royalty."

"Where do yeh come from?" Berwald saw Timo's eyes flick towards the sea and it clicked. "Yer a merman," he muttered in shock. "That's why yeh ran… _swam_ away that day. That's why yeh call me a mortal. Yeh gave up… yeh gave up yer entire world… yeh woulda given up yeh life just so yeh could find me."

"You were worth it. You still are. I would rather die a thousand times then never have these three days with you. I would still rather die than live on not having you. That was the whole point! The whole point was to have the chance to be with you, but I never thought beyond the kiss! I never thought about how little I could give! I never knew you were a king!" Timo exclaimed, tears forming again. "I can never be your equal as a mortal."

"And as a merman? Who were yeh, Timo?" Berwald asked stepping towards him.

"I was the youngest prince of this sea's royal family," Timo answered dully, throwing his arm out behind him to encompass the sea that surrounded Berwald's kingdom. "My oldest brother is king."

"Then, yeh are mah equal, T'mo. But more than that, yeh are the one who saved mah life, who sang on the beach, the one Ah love," Berwald replied simply, taking Timo's hands. Timo stared up at him. "Marry me, Prince of the sea, 'cause Ah need yeh. The idea of yeh never bein' in mah life hurts. Ah've been so empty and then yeh came and everything empty filled. Ah want t'protect yeh and love yeh for the rest of our _mortal_ lives. Perhaps yeh can't give me wealth or lands, but yeh've given me yer life and given me mine. What more can Ah possibly want?"

Timo slowly smiled, his hands moving to entwine their fingers together. "Can I really… Can I really be by your side… forever, Berwald?"

"Ferever," Berwald began, bending over and resting his forehead on Timo's, "could not be long 'nough."

Timo laughed aloud, his laughter like his song, wild, free, and lovely.

.

Behind them, in the shadows of the cliffs, Lovino stood on the ocean surface. The moon was just risen over the horizon, her silver light gilding Lovino's golden and olive skin. He smiled dryly, that self-mocking smirk so often on his lips. His golden eyes were on the star-crossed lovers- maybe not so star-crossed after all. Lovino had been so sure that Berwald, the human, would fail, that Timo would return to the sea and be yet another sad, broken story. Watching them now, their love having won against all odds, Lovino felt a stirring of hope deep within him.

If the silent merboy could win his true love's kiss from the dutiful mortal king, then why couldn't Lovino have his happy ending? Could he truly have faith in mortals? Did, perhaps, he not have faith enough long ago?

He opened his hand and the seawater on his palm glistened silver in the moonlight. He breathed over the surface and in the ripples a face formed. Bright green eyes in a tanned face surrounded by even darker, wild hair. Those green eyes, once so light and cheerful, looked so different now. Was that the same look that Lovino displayed day after day? That look of yearning and regret? Was his pirate thinking of him after all?

Lovino glanced back to the couple on the beach and smiled. "Thank you, little prince." He sank into the sea.

.

Berwald and Timo were married that night. The kingdom was shocked, but most quickly accepted Berwald's assertions that Timo was a prince from a distant kingdom, washed ashore in a horrible crash and only recently had his memories returned. When Timo spoke for the first time, his voice musical and sweet, the rest had easily given in as well. Who could doubt such an innocent, honest-sounding boy with a voice of an angel and a smile to match? Besides, their king was so obviously besotted, they couldn't help but follow along; Berwald's subjects loved him.

Timo ruled at Berwald's side, proving himself to be as honest and good as people had thought. In the few battles their large kingdom waged, Timo proved his loyalty by Berwald's side at the frontlines, being as fierce as he was gentle. However, throughout the kingdom, he was most renowned for his beautiful voice that was almost unearthly in its loveliness. He sang most sweetly when Berwald played his violin and people came far and wide to hear the two kings.

Christen kept his word and Norgeland did ally with Berwald's kingdom. Lukas had no intention of doing otherwise, but Christen still claimed it was all his idea. They lived in Lukas's palace, but spent most their time in Christen's baronetcy; Lukas for the solitude, Christen for all the free time with his normally busy spouse.

Emil travelled to the Orient, hoping that he could find his own happiness. He ended up as rule-disregarding as his brother and eloped with a native boy without an ounce of blue blood in any kingdom. Luckily, noble or not, the boy had inherited quite a large amount of wealth and it didn't take much for Lukas to get the aristocracy to accept the marriage.

Timo's family had every price repaid. Though sad at their brother's choice, they were glad that, at least, he had lived. They found their own happiness and lived on forever, watching over their brother and his mortal king for the rest of his shortened, though joyous life. When he died, they watched over the young boy their brother and his king had adopted and raised. They continued to watch after the royal line of the Oxenstierna clan as long as the name survived. No mortal drowned in that sea ever since and tales of glorious beings with lovely voices filled the kingdom. They were never hunted because, for some reason, the voices reminded them of their beloved King Timo, whose memory lived on for generations.

.

Timo and Berwald walked along the beach, both barefoot and their breeches rolled up their legs to their knees. Hana, slightly larger, but not much, darted around them, content to explore on her own. Berwald's large hand was wrapped around Timo's much smaller one. Over the sea, the sun was setting, painting the world with mauve, orange, and crimson. Another sunset, different from every one before it. They walked hand-in-hand on the golden beach glowing in the lingering rays of the sun and lived

Happily Ever After


	7. Schneewittchen Part I

Blood Red

They had promised to be friends forever. Nothing would ever come between them. Even though they were princes of two rival kingdoms, they swore never to forget the bond forged between them as children.

Then  _she_  came. And everything was different.

He was constantly worried for her. They walked slower so she could keep up, stayed indoors during the worst heat of the afternoon, and even ate different sweets, drank different teas, just because she liked them. She was kind, quiet, sweet, and she adored him, watching him with big, green eyes almost misty with reverence.

She reminded him of a gerbil and he hated her. He hated her because she loved the man  _he_ loved, and, day by day, that man was returning her feelings.

It took all of Roderich's willpower not to kill that fatuous, simpering Lady Lili when Basch,  _his_  Basch, announced their betrothal. Instead, Roderich had congratulated them with a small, bland smile. He had waited by Basch's side as she walked down the aisle two years later, tiny, shaking, smiling in all her virginal white finery. He had eaten tiny, sweet shrimps, sipped dry, heady wine, and danced boring, stately dances until his feet ached while inside he seethed bright and hot. He'd kissed Lady –  _now Queen_ – Lili's cheek, embraced King Basch, and left in the wee hours of the morning, a vague scheme burning in his brain.

.

Ten years later, Queen Lili was still the kind, sweet, quiet soul she had always been. She was blissfully happy… excepting that… she still had no heir for her King. The one most important duty for a Queen and she hadn't even had a  _daughter_ , let alone a prince and heir. Basch told Lili so often, whenever he saw her looking sad or guilty, that even if she never had children, he would always love her. Being with her made him happy. Then, he would storm away, huffy and red-faced, while she giggled behind his back. It didn't change the fact that Lili still had nothing to give the man whom had given her everything. A long time ago, she was just a third daughter of a poor baron of a floundering estate. She had been one more mouth to feed in a family that could barely afford to feed their horses. Hungry and heart-aching, she had gone out into the forest that long ago day just to escape and maybe find wild berries to eat. Instead, she had found dear Basch and their mutual friend, elegant, beautiful Roderich. She hadn't heard from Roderich in a while, but he had a very large, prosperous, nearby kingdom to run, so it wasn't very strange.

The diminutive Queen turned back to the view outside her window. It was late January now, the snow having swept in the night before and piled high around the window eaves. On her lap lay an embroidery hoop with an unfinished swan in the center. It was captured mid-flight, its wings outstretched, black feet bared, neck arched. Lili sighed softly and, with a quick glance towards the room to make sure Basch was indeed absent, pushed open the window. He was always so worried for her health that he expressively disapproved of open windows in late winter. She hated his disapproval, but sometimes she just needed a breath of freezing, bracing, winter air. Lili leaned forward, letting the chilly breeze stir through her long blonde hair, a small smile curving her pale lips. Her hand shifted over the embroidery in her lap and she flinched.

She brought up her hand and gazed at the blood welling on her skin. So red… so bright and luscious red… As if in a trance, Lili held out her hand, breath caught in her throat as the bright red drop slipped and fell to the snow. The warm liquid splashed and spread like a kiss over the snow just beneath the windowsill. Like a kiss… like lips…

"I wish I could have a child with lips so red as that blood, and skin as fair as snow," Lili whispered, a wistful smile on her mouth. "And ebony hair… white and black like a swan…" With a disgusted sigh, Lili sat back and sucked on her pierced finger.  _I would be lucky to have a child at all_.

"So you finally made a wish, your Majesty?" a rather amused, though sarcastic voice said from beyond the window.

Lili glanced up, green eyes widening in shock. In front of her hovered a young blond man with eyes every bit as green as her own under bushy black brows, a wry smirk on his lips. White wings fluttered behind his shoulders and a thin, golden, star-topped wand was held in his fist, which was propped up on his hip. He looked almost absurd with all his fair skin bared to the winter wind, covered only in a long tunic wrapped in a strange fashion around his slender figure.

"Well? Are you going to say something, your Majesty? I have other much more important things to do, you know," this odd, angelic man snapped at her.

"Ah, oh… um, I'm sorry," Lili stammered, a blush heating her cheeks. "I… I was not expecting to… um… see you?"

The angel man rolled his eyes and then plopped down on the window seat next to her, letting his miniature wings settle on his shoulder blades. "My name is Arthur. To put it very,  _very_  simply, I am your guardian angel. You have a pure and unselfish heart, Lili, and I've been waiting a very long time to help you. You're so unselfish, however, you never think to ask for anything!" Arthur huffed, annoyed and impressed all at once.

"N-No, I'm not all that at all! I'm just quiet and I really have everything I've ever needed-  _wanted_ ," Lili protested earnestly. "I have more than I've ever dreamed I could have."

Arthur sighed, his lips twitching. "I don't know I should slap you or pat your head."

"I rather wish you wouldn't slap me," Lili murmured. Arthur chuckled and patted her head gently, making her giggle.

"You're wrong, though, Lili. There  _is_  something you want. I am here to give it to you."

Her green eyes shimmered, overwhelmed with happiness and surprise. "Truly?" she whispered, awestruck. Arthur blushed at her shining, cute face. He glanced away.

"Of course, you idiot. Now, you wished for a baby, with lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow, and hair as black as ebony, if I remember correctly? Well, at least if you're finally going to ask, you asked properly. For a color scheme like that, though, maybe a daughter is best?" Arthur mused.

"I'm sure his Majesty would prefer a son…" Lili tried to point out, but Arthur dismissed it.

"Son shmun, you're getting a daughter and every prince in the world will want to marry her. Now, let's see about this," Arthur decided firmly as he placed his wand to her forehead.

The star glowed, her golden hair glittering in the magical light. He frowned, green eyes darkening. Lili was small and rather meek, but she was perfectly healthy. There was no reason for her to be barren- His eyes widened and then narrowed. There, on her womb, was a sinister shadow. The queen was being _poisoned._ The idea that someone was cold-hearted enough to poison  _Lili_ , the most innocent and sweetest mortal being Arthur had ever met, appalled the angel to illness. He purged the poison with a blinding flash of light that only he saw, though Lili felt the flood of warmth in her lower belly and sighed in pleasure. It was as if a sunrise had bloomed deep inside her body. A flush filled her face and she pressed her slender fingers to her lips.

"There, now you can become pregnant. And Lili?" Arthur began, unsure how to warn her. She gazed at him trustingly. With a sigh, a glow enveloped him and suddenly a young man in normal courtier's clothing sat on the windowsill, his wings and wand gone. "I think it best if I remain by your side to ensure your child's wellbeing as well as your own. Don't worry about your King, I'll make sure he understands that I'm to be your personal bodyguard," Arthur told her. She clapped her hands together and laughed in delight.

"I'm so very glad you've decided to stay! I owe you so much, Arthur!"

Arthur blushed deep crimson from his collarbone to his ears.

.

When Roderich found out from his spy that the Queen was pregnant and a strange young man had come to watch over the Queen, Roderich was furious. Beyond furious. Priceless antiques were smashed into walls and onto the floor. He pulled himself together, only to step, heedless of glass and battered wood, towards the piano to play for hours on end. His spy had told him that the strange new bodyguard had to be magical, because he waved his hand over every meal laced with poison put before the Queen, but not over the meals that were untainted. Roderich sat at his piano late into the night, fingers dancing over the keys as he began to think just  _how_  he could fix this. There was no other choice. He had to go to the Mirror.

The Mirror was in a small room hidden in the back of his closet. The walls were draped in vibrant pink silk and pictures of ponies galloping hung among the silk. Roderich's feet sank onto the lush, dark green carpet as he crossed the little room, the wall automatically sliding shut behind him. A huge, gaudy, gold-framed mirror stood in front of him. It was taller even than Roderich and standing on its own clawed feet. Roderich sighed, rubbed his forehead, and then leaned forward to breathe on the glass, his breath fogging on the oddly chilled surface.

"Feliks," he called simply.

Slowly an image began to appear. The image was of a young man, a little shorter than Roderich, with straight blond hair and droopy green eyes. He wore a long, pink, frilly nightgown and held a stuffed pony under his arm. The blond rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"It's, like, totally late. Could this wait, Roddy?"

"I told you never to call me that, Feliks," Roderich seethed. Feliks merely shrugged.

"Like, whatever."

"I'm sorry to wake you, Feliks," Roderich began, controlling himself quickly. "It's very important. I need to discuss-" he broke off as Feliks smirked and held up his finger, waving it back and forth.

"Tsk, tsk, Roddy. That's, like, totally not how you ask," Feliks warned cheerfully. Roderich gritted his teeth.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, please help me, fairest of them all," Roderich slowly ground out each word.

"Like, that's  _so_  much better. Thanks. Now, uh… did you say you needed somethin'? Cuz I was totally sleepin'."

" _Yes_ , I do need something! Feliks, I need to find out how the Queen became pregnant!" Roderich all but snarled.

Feliks blinked. "You mean that poor girl you're, like, poisonin'? She's preggers now? Hmm…" he trailed off, green eyes becoming blank. They widened in astonishment. "Ohhhh, that's some spell on her! She must have made a wish!"

"A wish? She's pregnant because of a  _wish_?"

"Well, you've heard the sayin' right? If wishes were horses, we'd all be, like, flyin'," Feliks sang easily. Roderich stared at him in confusion. "She has a guardian near her, kinda like an angel, ya know?"

"Can you break the wish? Can you do  _anything_?" Roderich demanded. Feliks pouted.

"Golly, you're, like, such a total killjoy. Lemme see…" Feliks's eyes became oblique again. " _I wish I could have a child with lips so red as that blood, and skin as fair as snow and ebony hair… white and black like a swan…"_

"That's her wish? Ridiculous," Roderich scoffed.  _She should've wished for child just like Basch._

"Like, how uncool!" Feliks cried. "It was  _her_  wish, not yours!" Roderich waved a slender, pale hand negligently.

"We must fix this."

"You can't "fix" a wish," Feliks mocked, using his fingers to enclose 'fix' in quotes. Roderich didn't understand some of Feliks's manners of speaking or strange hand gestures. But that was unimportant.

"We cannot destroy the wish, but we may change it. Correct?" Feliks nodded reluctantly. Roderich smiled slyly as an idea formed in his mind. "She will regret her silly little wish for the rest of her pathetic little life. I have it."

"You must rhyme it," Feliks reminded him sadly. Roderich frowned and then nodded.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I beseech you this wish undo, let the child be born with eyes blood red, may hair as white as snow grow upon his head, and last of this curse I send back, may the child's  _heart_  be ebony black," Roderich finally intoned, spectacles flashing in the mirror's bright, sudden glow.

"Like, man, that was a horrible rhyme. I totally feel sorry for that girl," Feliks complained before disappearing, leaving a misty, silver sheet of glass that showed only Roderich's reflection.

The dark-haired King stood there silently for a few moments, then turned on his heel and left the little room behind. He knew  _his_  wish, poorly rhymed or not, had triumphed. Feliks would've said otherwise. His mouth curved into a sly, dark smirk.

.

_Eighteen Years Later…_

A somewhat tall and lean man stalked down the hall, prussian blue cloak snapping behind him. His hair flashed white as sunlight streaking through the windows caught in the fair locks. Lips snarled in a pale, strong-boned face. He slammed his hand against an ajar door, causing it to swing forward abruptly and crash into the wall inside the room. Blood-red eyes surveyed the room, rage causing those strange, eerie eyes to shine like bloody flames.

" _What am I supposed to do, damn it?"_  he all but shrieked, staring at the men arrayed around the large, round table in the huge, airy room. A few had jumped in shock, but most only sighed.

"Your Highness, prease, carm yoursef," one young man said, his accent becoming thicker in his anxiety. His brown eyes, normally so stoic, were wide and shaking with his whole, slender body. In rapid succession, he sneezed again and again, maybe five times, before he managed to stop and press a handkerchief to his nose. Nervousness also made his sinuses act up.

Beside the diminutive, black-haired man was a taller brunette with half-lidded green eyes. He patted the young man's back, mumbling 'bless you' under his breath. He looked up at the prince. "Sir Kiku is right. You should calm down," he suggested in his lazy, drawling voice.

"Sir Herakles, we should be discussing the problem at hand! Not the level of anyone's  _calmness_!" another man retorted, slamming his hand down on the table so that it shook wildly.

" _Ay, ay, mi amigos_ , that's why we're all here, no? Sit down and we'll discuss our next step," another man quickly interrupted, a big, happy grin on his face as he waved his arms downward. He got up and touched the prince's trembling arm, lowering his voice. "Gilbert,  _mi amigo_ , please, sit. Your anger only makes it worse."

Prince Gilbert irritably shook off Antonio's hand and nodded towards Ludwig, his cousin and heir in the event of his father's death. The event that seemed to be happening  _right now_. His mother, God rest her soul, had died when he had been just an infant. His father had told him, one of the only things he'd ever told his son, that Queen Lili had died holding her long-awaited son in her arms, smiling and content after naming him Gilbert. In her last hours, she refused to listen to anyone saying the heir was cursed. She only ever called him her little blessing. Now, his father was dying as well. The kingdom was in an uproar to Gilbert's ears. The King had been perfectly healthy and then, so suddenly, he was too ill to even rise from his bed. On everyone's lips was the dreaded word:  _poison_. Poison meant treason. And the only person to benefit from the King's death was Gilbert. With his well-known curse hanging over his head, the people had begun to whisper their discontent with his upcoming leadership. As the King grew even weaker, the people's dissatisfaction had started to become violent. Stores were being vandalized, windows broken with rocks, wagons with supplies to the royal castle were seized and ransacked, crude, treasonous messages were carved into stone walls around the castle keep, and more and more servants were slipping away to join the rabble. Gilbert gritted his teeth and began to pace.

" _Mon cher_ , perhaps… perhaps it is necessary to seek wisdom from your old guardian," Francis, yet another knight of Gilbert's, suggested tentatively.

"Yeah! He may have called you a monster without a heart, but he swore to protect you!" another man perked up with a goofy grin, merry blue eyes dancing. Francis and a young man that looked  _remarkably_  like the tactless blond both groaned and covered their faces in their hands.

Gilbert rounded on the blue-eyed blond man, red eyes flashing. " _Do you think this is funny, Alfred?_ I'm being accused of treason by every one of my subjects and you're sitting there just  _grinning and joking!_ " Gilbert snarled.

"He really can't help himself, your Highness," murmured Alfred's lookalike in a soft, barely heard voice.

"This is getting us nowhere," Ludwig put in, again, his deep voice once more annoyed. Matthew sighed as no one heard him  _again_. "Sir Francis, however, has the only good idea as of yet. We  _must_  call the Angel Arthur. He promised to protect you and you're at risk of being  _beheaded_  due to rumors gone  _completely_  out of control."

Gilbert rubbed his forehead and then, slowly, reluctantly nodded. "My father told me the same," he muttered. Francis placed his hand Gilbert's shoulder.

" _Mon cher_ , how is he?"

"He'll be dead within the hour," Gilbert snapped.

The entire room fell silently.

" _Mon Dieu,"_ Francis breathed, his voice laden with pain.

"You should go back to him, your Highness," Matthew counseled in his gentle voice. He blushed brightly as everyone turned to him, Gilbert included.

Gilbert 'tch'ed under his breath. "I will, later. We need a plan first. And it looks like I'll have to call that annoying bastard to come help me, like some pathetic child," Gilbert growled. He strode away from the table, approaching a window and halting, fists tightly clenched at his side. "I wish…  _Verdammt_ , I wish you'd come help me, you failure of an angel!" Gilbert screamed out the window, pale face flushing an ugly red.

The knights stumbled back out of the chairs, murmurs of shock and dismay as the angel suddenly appeared sitting cross-legged in the middle of the table. His green eyes were snapping fiercely with irritation, his mouth pulled tightly into a tense, angry smirk. Tiny white wings fluttered on his back as he tapped his golden wand against his forearm.

"Is that  _any way_  to ask for help, you heartless blackguard?"

Gilbert swung around, a cocky smirk on his face. "Not really, but you came, right? Do you always have to shove that damn curse in my face?"

"Yes," Arthur replied simply. He got to his feet and then fluttered through the room to land just in front of Gilbert. "Your father  _is_  dying of poison. He was already weak from heartbreak. He's  _letting_ the poison consume him for love of her. He's placing his trust in you because she did," Arthur told him bluntly, watching Gilbert's red eyes narrow. "Ah… you figured that out, did you?"

"I'm heartless, not brainless," Gilbert retorted. They glared at each other, the hatred almost palpable between their gazes. Then, Arthur sighed and broke away.

"There may be hope for you yet, if you called me. You care about this kingdom to some extent. You understand honor, even if you can't understand love. For that, and for your dear mother, I will help you."

"Thank you so very much," Gilbert growled. "What's your brilliant idea, then?"

"You must run."

Every knight in the room jumped to their feet, shouting all at once, as Gilbert gaped at Arthur wordlessly.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, RUN? From my kingdom? From my people? From my birthright? I should turn tail like a kicked dog and  _run_?"Gilbert finally choked out.

"We can protect our prince! None of us here believes he is guilty!" Francis exclaimed, throwing out his arms.

"We pledged our lives to him, _ángel_ ," Antonio added vehemently.

"Perhaps the angel has-has-has a g-good reason-ACHOO!" Kiku shook his head briskly, and continued on. "Listen out to him. I mean, hear him out!"

"Thank you, Sir Kiku. Your enemy is beyond your ken, Gilbert. It is because of this enemy your mother was too weak and died after your birth. He has spies everywhere, even in your castle, and it is because of him your father now lays on his deathbed as well. He wants your kingdom," Arthur explained firmly. "He had already swayed the hearts of your people. You must flee now and come back to claim your kingdom when his true colors are shown. You must find a way to expose him for the monster he is!"

"But… Arthur…. who  _is_  this enemy?" Alfred asked, blue eyes wide with confusion. Arthur sighed.

"King Roderich Edelstein."

"R-Roderich…  _Roderich_?" Ludwig whispered in horror. He had lived in Roderich's home, an orphan raised by his nearest relative who happened to be a king. Roderich had tried so hard to keep Ludwig from coming here, to pledging his service to his cousin when still a child… could it be… was this why? "This is impossible. King Roderich and King Basch have been best friends! Best friends for years! He used to… he used to tell me stories…" Ludwig trailed off, blue eyes stricken. None of those stories had ever involved the queen. Only Roderich and Basch… could this really be a tale based only on… jealousy?

"It would have broken your mother's heart to know she was dying and barren by her dear friend's own hand. I did my best to save her… but I was too late. When I attempted to tell Basch the truth after your mother's death, he banished me from his presence. He  _wouldn't_  hear the truth, your Highness, but he knows it.  _That_  is the other reason he lets himself die now. The heartbreak of your mother's death and the heartbreak of King Roderich's betrayal have killed your father more than any wretched poison," Arthur spat angrily. "That madman's venom knows no bounds, and for that reason you must flee now."

Gilbert glared, teeth squeaking as he gritted them, before he slammed his fist into the wall.

"Fine! But  _I will return_ ," Gilbert finally acceded. Arthur smirked.

"Without a doubt, Prince Gilbert." Arthur bowed with a flourish.

"You should go to your father now, your Highness," Kiku spoke up softly. "We will make all the necessary arrangements for our departure."

"Will you be staying with us… Angel Arthur?" Herakles asked, hesitating slightly over how to address him. Arthur shrugged.

"Sir Arthur is fine. I played the role of a knight for Queen Lili. I shall do the same for Prince Gilbert. I will remain at his side to protect him now that events have come to a head as they have."

Gilbert nodded jerkily to Arthur and left the room. Behind him, the discussion for provisions and destination began. Gilbert rubbed his temples, trying to calm himself down further. He shouldn't be this upset when he went to see his father for the last time.  _The last time_. It was still so impossible to believe. Maybe Gilbert couldn't understand what love was, maybe he'd never feel it his entire life, but he admired his father. If Gilbert were to be king, he wanted to be the King his father was. He wanted to be just and fair and unbiased. He wanted his people to love him, and he would give them everything he possibly could in return. He was so empty inside, so starved of that emotion his father and mother had shared so strongly, that Gilbert spent his whole life trying to gain it in others. He hated feeling separate from everyone. He hated feeling lonely because he lacked what so many others took for granted. And now he was about to lose one of the few people in the world who loved him.

Gilbert nodded to the men standing guard outside the King's room and entered. Inside, the drapes were thrown wide open, filling the huge, airy room with sunlight. The physicians had already been sent away, for there was nothing they could do now and Basch had always been one to hide his weakness – something Gilbert had inherited honestly. Basch turned his head, feverishly bright green eyes meeting Gilbert's. Slowly, painfully, Basch raised a hand and beckoned his son, standing so awkwardly by the door, closer.

"Gilbert," Basch whispered.

Gilbert sat by the head of the bed in the chair that had been placed there for him. His brows were low and his red eyes were still thunderous. He watched as his father breathed shallow, rough breaths. Sweat beaded Basch's waxy, pale forehead, making the fair blond hair stick to his skin. His hair had once been thick and full, falling just below his chin, but now it was thin, oily, and falling out in clumps whenever brushed. In an unsure, hesitating motion, Gilbert reached out and gently stroked damp hair away from the King's eyes. As Gilbert stared down at his father's dying and fever-flushed face, his mouth worked soundlessly, then his fingers curled into tight, white-knuckled fists.

Nothing.

Nothing but rage at nothing. That's what Gilbert felt. At that moment, he truly, fiercely hated the bastard who had cursed him. He should  _feel_  something. He should be allowed his grief; the denial, the tears,  _anything_. Instead, he looked at the King, his father, and saw only the inevitable death of an ill man and all the repercussions of that death placed upon him.

"It's all right, Gilbert," Basch murmured hoarsely, placing his wasted, slender hand over Gilbert's clenched fists. Hands once warm and strong and covered in calluses. Hands that had held up Gilbert's as he taught him how to shoot that old musket. Hands that had touched his silver hair gently, lovingly, even though Basch's face had been stern. Hands that should have remained strong.

"No. No, it isn't right that you should die, Father," Gilbert retorted.

"We both know that is not what I am meaning," Basch said, one eyebrow raising. Gilbert glanced away. "I am glad it is just an empty heart, rather than an evil one. And your mother…" he gasped, causing Gilbert to turn back to him, wondering if that would be the end. But Basch took another shuddering breath and continued, "Your mother loved you till the very end, son. She believed in her wish and in your heart. There is always a way to break a curse, she said, and you will find it. You are my son and you are hers. If anyone is stubborn enough, or  _good_  enough, it will be the son I made with Lili. Do not disappoint us, Gilbert. We both believe in you."

Gilbert's fists squeezed spasmodically. "I will become a King to be proud of, father. I will be the King that you were, as best as I can. I can't promise, though, that I'll ever be the son either of you deserve."

"And that… means you're already the son I've always wanted. You will find your heart, just like Lili said," Basch stated decidedly, his eyes closing. "And Gilbert… I'm sorry I trusted him too well, but was too blind to see how it could hurt your mother and you. Do not make my mistake. Make no alliance with… the eastern kingdom…" There was a gentle, broken exhale, but, as Gilbert sat there, the next inhale never came.

In a rush of confusion, Gilbert clasped his father's hand. "Father?"

There was only silence.

Gilbert let his head fall to their interlocked hands, that hand that lay so still and clammy in his, so weak and small, and gritted his teeth, feeling the rage course through him. "I will kill that traitor. He will never destroy Mother's wish. I will  _not_  disappoint you."

.

Across the country and even farther, in a castle made of glistening white stone and gold-tiled roofs, Roderich mourned the necessary death of his beloved Basch. The man had really been too stubborn. He should have come to Roderich at Lili's death, come to take comfort in the arms of his one, true, dearest friend. Instead, Basch had separated himself even further from Roderich and even alluded to a half-formed suspicion that Roderich had been involved in Lili's death. Roderich really couldn't have that. There was only one explanation for Basch's reticence; Lili had corrupted the trust between them, had poisoned their truer, deeper love that the simpering girl-child could never have comprehended. It was better that Basch had left this dirty world. Roderich would take over Basch's kingdom and rule it as one kingdom with his own, as it always should have been. All that was left was…  _the child._ Not even a daughter, but a son!  _A son_! The angel had said a daughter! And not only that, but the boy – a man now, really – was not a heartless, rampaging monster, just an emotionless tool bent only on honor and glory. An object of pity.

It wasn't good enough. Roderich might have used his spy network to circulate the rumors against the heir's character, but as long as Prince Gilbert lived, the throne, and Roderich's perfect kingdom, was in danger.

"Your Majesty?" a low voice murmured. He looked over his shoulder, meeting the amber eyes of a young knight.

"Speak on," Roderich invited imperiously. He missed the annoyance that flittered over the young man's sharp features.

"My liege, Sir Eli, has come as you bid," said the knight, bowing as two more knights entered behind him.

The taller of the two knights strode forward, long, shapely legs crossing over smooth pink-hued marble floor to kneel at Roderich's feet. A forest green cloak fell around the knight's form in waves. Roderich smiled, pleased, and held out a slim, fair hand, which the knight took up in both hands and kissed gently, fleetingly. The two other knights knelt as well, heads bowed.

"Milord, your Majesty, what deed do you require of me? Ask and I obey," stated the knight in a clear, bell-like voice, lilting in an odd accent of the far-off territory kingdom of Magyar.

"Sir Eli, rise. What I wish of you requires you to be on your feet."

The one called Eli grinned and leapt lightly upright, as if not weighed down by the heavy chainmail and steel greaves equipped on that lithe, graceful figure. The two others remained on their knees. The darker-haired man, who had entered first, scowled fiercely, but the shorter, auburn-haired knight pressed a gauntlet covered finger to his lips.

"You have heard of Prince Gilbert, I'm sure?" Roderich was saying.

"Of course, God watch over him. It is said his father, the King, lies dying-"

"At the Prince's greedy hands!" Roderich interrupted, all but spitting the words. Eli flinched back, bright green eyes wide in surprise.

"Y-Your Majesty?"

Roderich took a deep, calming breath and brushed his hair back from his brow quickly, a habit more than something necessary. "You must excuse me, Sir Eli. King Basch… Basch was a dear friend of mine. So long ago. Before that monster was born…" Roderich broke off, closing his eyes as if in pain. "You must have… heard… about the curse…"

"Heart as black as ebony," Eli murmured in dawning horror.

"That creature feels nothing, not even for his own father. He wants power to fill up that empty hole in his chest- oh, if only Lili's wish had not become distorted! Poor little Queen. And Basch… dear Basch… his torment must be great knowing his own son has been killing him by inches with, I fear,  _poison_ ," Roderich clutched his blouse, wrinkling the fine satin without concern as his brows contracted in grief. Eli reached out and touched his elbow gently.

"Please, your Majesty, what must be done?"

"He… he is going to run. He has heard I am going to his kingdom to oversee the eventual funeral and take the kingdom from his savage hands. I must protect the kingdom of my dear friend. You must hunt him down, Sir Eli. You are the best huntsman, the best marksman, of every knight in our kingdom and his. Will you do this? He has seven companions to aid him, men as greedy and power-hungry as he. You and your men shall be in grave danger. Will you go, anyway, and save that kingdom?" Violet eyes bore into emerald. But Eli did not quaver, instead shoulders straightened and spine stiffened under the weight of steel and leather.

"For you, milord, I would do anything. Prince Gilbert will be brought to you."

"No. No, Sir Eli, I refuse to take a chance that some power-hungry nobles will raise him up as the true heir. It is not he I want brought to me. Bring me his black heart," he paused, walking over to a small, dark wood table. His back turned briefly, and he missed the looks of revulsion on the three knights' faces. When he turned back, the two kneeling once more had their faces to the ground and Eli's face was stern. In Roderich's hands was a small, glossy, wooden box, pretty painted tiles pressed deep into the top in the shape of a mirror. "Place his heart in this box and bring it to me. Do not fail me, Sir Eli."

"I… I would never do that, your Majesty, but if I may… enquire…" At Roderich's elegantly curved eyebrow, Eli rushed on, "Our private agreement, the promise between my parents and you, will it be fulfilled when I return?"

"When you return triumphant, Eli – loyal, brave Eli – our agreement will be carried out at last," Roderich said with a small nod. A bright grin filled Eli's face.

"I look forward to it, milord," Eli replied, bowing and leaving the room. The horrid, pretty box was tucked into the crook of Eli's elbow. The two other knights rose and quickly followed after.

.

Gilbert had been forced to flee just hours after his father's death. Arthur hadn't even allowed him to stay for the funeral. The angel had a sudden, overwhelming sense of danger over Gilbert. The eight men and angel had left the kingdom in the dead of the night, saddle bags packed lightly and armor buckled on tight and sure, ready for anything. The horses pounded over the earth, grass and dirt flying behind their hooves. After about an hour of hard riding, Gilbert motioned for everyone to slow, not wanting their horses blown so soon. Antonio and Francis spurred their mounts forward to each side of Gilbert, Ludwig and Arthur not too far behind. The angel was mumbling to himself in some strange, arcane language (most likely) so Gilbert and the rest ignored him. They continued on in that pattern for the rest of the day and well into the night.

They had come at last into a land that Gilbert had known well as a boy, though once on the path to knighthood, he had seldom ventured this far north. Mostly his father's kingdom…  _his_  kingdom… was mountainous, sparsely vegetated, and rather chilly. Here, the mountains still reigned high, but the territory was a deep, verdant valley. Pine forests stretched on as far as the eye could see, broken by wide meadows filled with flowers in the spring and summer seasons. Tiny, quaint villages dotted the sides of the mountains and along the wide, golden dirt road that wound lazily through the wide valley's depth. It was fertile and picturesque… and his mother's old home as a girl. It was once an independent baronetcy, but when she married the King, it became a small territory of the large kingdom, though it was still mostly autonomous. Arthur turned abruptly into the forest, calling to the rest to follow him. Other than that he was silent and the eight mortal men followed, perplexed.

"I wonder where he's taking us," Alfred muttered, his voice edging up into a whine. "My butt hurts from all this riding."

"Your head is going to hurt if you complain anymore," Ludwig warned. Alfred stuck his tongue out at the broad-shouldered blond.

"We're here," Arthur barked, pulling his horse up short. Gilbert rode up next to him. Teeth gritted so hard they squeaked as blood red eyes snapped.

"You. Are. Not. Serious. That hovel is not worth a pig pen, let alone a place for the  _awesome_ me, the son of a king, to live!" Gilbert yelled, throwing out a hand to encompass the little… well… hovel. It was barely the size of the meanest peasant's cottage with a sagging thatched roof, a door that hung crookedly, and thin, battered paper to cover the windows rather than glass. "I would rather sleep on the grass."

"Then, you better find a nice patch of it before it gets too dark, pompous git! You're not to  _live_  here, you're here to  _hide_. You can't expect me to place you in some clean little tavern in the middle of a bustling village where everyone knows your face, can you?" Arthur retorted sharply, his green eyes just as furious as Gilbert's. They glared at each other, snarling fiercely.

"Why must we fight again? We're all tired and hurting. Let us go into our new…  _home…_  and sleep,  _si_? I think it's charming!" Antonio quickly interrupted. Everyone stared at him, but he only smiled happily. "It has such a nice little garden. I even see some tomato plants.  _Muy bien_! I can make a good dish that  _mi mama_  used to make for me!"

Herakles was the first to recover from the shocking declaration by Antonio, if he'd even been shocked in the first place. His green eyes were mostly closed and he was slouching in his saddle with exhaustion. He didn't get his usual, near-constant nap that day. "With a few cats, it will be quite homey," he agreed lazily.

Francis cleared his throat lightly and added, " _Oui_ , it can be a fabulous abode with enough tender, loving care. For tonight, all that is important is sleep. Come now, Gilbert, stop antagonizing the poor man. He is  _trying_  to help."

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean,  _trying to help_? I AM HELPING, JACKASS!" Arthur roared.

"C'mon, everyone. Sleep times," Alfred yawned, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He spurred his horse on without waiting for their response, Matthew directly behind him.

"You really shouldn't yell. It isn't very discreet," Matthew chided softly as he passed Arthur. The angel was too busy hissing obscenities at Francis under his breath to hear him, though.

"It does not look… sanitary…" Kiku murmured under his breath. "Nor does it seem large enough to accommodate a party of this size…"

"It'll be all right, Kiku," Herakles replied, resting his arms on the pommel of the saddle. "Dirt can be cleaned and if there aren't enough beds, some of us can share. I don't mind sharing with you." Kiku stammered incoherently, blushed bright red, and then sneezed repeatedly.

"Well, if we have to, let's get on with it," Gilbert decided at once. He swung his leg over the saddle and got to his feet. His knights, and Arthur, quickly followed suit.

They took care of their horses and picketed them outside. In the small cottage, everything was dirty, dusty, and moth-eaten. There were three sagging beds and the fourth one had collapsed in a heap. The blankets were grey with grime, whatever colors they might have been originally having worn away. When Matthew leaned on a mattress to check if it would hold up under their weight, the loud squeaking of terrified mice responded. The men all exchanged looks. Gilbert's shoulders were shaking, fists clenched, but he turned to the group with a twitchy smile.

"Obviously, I, the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt Zwingli, should not have the bed with the mice," Gilbert told them in a very strained voice.

"Not like there's much of a choice for anyone…" Alfred muttered. "I think I'll go sleep with the horses."

.

The dawning sun was burning away the early morning fog when Gilbert woke again. After much discussion that finally ended with Francis and Ludwig coming up with sleeping places for everyone and Arthur convincing all the little rodents hiding out in the room to leave, everyone had unbuckled from their armour and, well, snuggled up. Gilbert and Antonio shared one bed; Kiku and Herakles the second; and Francis and Matthew shared the last. Ludwig seated himself next to the bedroom door, leaning against the wall with his broadsword over his lap. Arthur had left with the mice and hadn't come back and Alfred really had gone out to sleep with the horses. To make it easier on everyone, they all took turns staying up on watch so that everyone had a few hours sleeping alone (Alfred passed out under a tree until his turn on watch). Gilbert glared at the ceiling, red eyes annoyed and mouth twisted downwards.

 _I'm never bunking with Antonio again. The man clings like a leech,_  Gilbert thought, glancing over to his friend's slumbering face, gaping in horror when he noticed the large drool stain on his shoulder from Antonio's wide-stretched and slobbery mouth. He was about to push the man away when movement from the corner of his eye distracted him.

A tall, lean man had a blade leveled at Gilbert's head and was walking steadily closer.

"WHAT IN THE HELL!" Gilbert bellowed, struggling to get up and push Antonio off. Antonio fell with a flump to the ground and Alfred barged in, blood leaking from a cut over his eye.

"YOUR MAJESTY, we've been ambushed!" the tall blond shouted, racing towards the figure by Gilbert's bed. Amber eyes flashed in irritation.

"No shit, dumb ass," the intruder snapped, meeting Alfred's blade without flinching. In the back of Gilbert's mind, he was impressed. Alfred was his strongest knight and the intruder had blocked him easily.

Around them, the other knights woke up and reached for their weapons, not even bothering with their armor. Gilbert barely managed to lay his hand on his greatsword, when Ludwig's loud cry sounded from outside.

"Ludwig!" Gilbert roared.

He raced towards the window and threw himself through, torn oiled paper and broken wood falling around him like rain. Outside, he raised his head to see Ludwig falling to the ground, two knights with bloodied swords running towards the cottage. Their cloaks, like the man inside, were dark green without an insignia. One knight had a bow and quiver slung over his back, but both held thin, keen-pointed rapiers in their hands.

"That's the prince!" the arrow-wielder cried.

"Ve~ I hope he's not as tough as that one was!" the other exclaimed as the first managed to pull free the bow and an arrow within a blink of an eye.

Gilbert was on his feet and running forward, vision red in fury, when the arrow loosed. He batted it away with his sword, making the archer gasp and the other squeak in fright. The squeaker raised his rapier in time to lunge towards Gilbert. The prince jumped to the side, losing his momentum. As both knights came towards him, swords raised, Kiku darted into view, long daggers free. He threw himself at the squeaker and they both fell away, daggers and rapier flashing and sometimes clashing. The archer and Gilbert stood watching each other, green eyes boring into red.

"Who are you?"

A wolfish grin. "We are huntsmen. Call me Sir Eli."

"You're completely outnumbered! What the hell are you thinking?" Gilbert snapped as they began to circle warily.

"That we're more than enough for you," Eli replied, still grinning. Then the knight lunged forward and they began to parry blows.

A wall collapsed in the hut and Alfred was sent hurtling, head over heels, towards the tree line. The horses threw up their heads and whinnied loudly, eyes rolling in their heads. Kiku let out a short cry and fell to the ground, clutching his thigh. Gilbert moved towards him, and Eli struck from the opposite direction, thin blade cutting through linen easily to pierce the thick muscle of Gilbert's lower torso. He moved back quickly enough that it didn't get too deeply into his flesh, but he eyed Eli cautiously now, one hand pressed to his wound. Behind him, Antonio and Francis were dueling with the other unnamed huntsman as they burst from the wreckage. Herakles followed, bow in hand, but Matthew was bleeding heavily from his forehead, so Herakles had to support the young blond with his free arm. Just in time, too, because that side of the hut fell in with a cloud of dust.

"Where the hell is Arthur?" Gilbert yelled as the squeaking-hunter came to Eli's side.

"Aw, can't find your angel?" Eli taunted. "Too bad, looks like you needed him."

"Sir Eli, we must hurry! Lovino can't hold them off forever!"

"Feliciano, go aid him. I will cut out the prince's heart myself," Eli ordered briskly. Feliciano nodded and ran towards Lovino, who was still holding off Francis and Antonio while shouting a stream of curses.

"Haven't you heard?" Gilbert growled. Eli's eyebrow rose in question. "I have no heart."

He rushed forward, ignoring Eli's rapier, and threw himself at the knight, knocking them both to the ground and the breath right out of them. His elbow pressed into Eli's throat, but he moved no further, because a dagger was at his ribs, just below his heart.

"A stalemate?" Eli breathed hoarsely, smirking.

"Like hell. We'll finish this."

"You're just saving time for that damn angel to show up. I will not  _lose_!" Eli exclaimed. Gilbert's eyes widened as the knight lifted his knee in a swift motion. His eyes watered and he fell over, curled around his lower body, holding onto his crotch, trying not to whimper.

"That's  _d-dirty_ ," Gilbert choked out as Eli got to his knees.

"Whatever works. I have something I desperately want and your heart is the only price. Prepare to die, monster prince," Eli said, shrugging as he flipped the dagger and knelt at Gilbert's side. The blade pressed to his throat – obviously to kill him quickly before he could recover.

"I wouldn't do that,  _mon ami_ ," Francis spoke suddenly from over Gilbert's head. Gilbert glanced up and saw Francis standing over him, his own rapier drawn and leveled at Eli's skull. The blond was panting heavily and a large patch of blood was growing slowly over his left shoulder, but his sword arm was steady.

"You strike, and your prince is dead," Eli replied softly. Francis nodded.

"This is true. However, you kill him and you  _and_  your companions are dead," Francis told the assassin that held his prince. Eli's eyes narrowed at something behind Francis, but the blade to Gilbert's throat kept the prince from turning to see.

"E-Eli, get out of here! Take that bastard prince with you! Argh!" Lovino groaned, cutting off as someone muffled him.

"Finish your mission, Sir Eli," Feliciano's quavering voice added before he sniffled.

"Are you really going to let your faithful companions die, Sir Eli?" Matthew asked in his soft, breathy voice. Eli's eyes narrowed.

A hand grasped Gilbert's tunic and Eli wrenched him to his feet, keeping the blade at his throat. "You are coming with me, prince. The moment even  _one_  of them dies, this man has his throat slit. We'll be in stalemate until I make it to the kingdom."

"You think you can honestly hold  _me_  captive? You may have caught me off guard this time-" Gilbert broke off as Eli punched him in the solar plexus, hard and swift.

His eyes rolled to the top of his head and he fell towards the ground. Eli easily caught him, threw him over his shoulder, staggering a bit, and continued walking backwards, dagger drawn in his other free hand. A dark brown mare cantered up when Eli whistled. The conscious knights looked on, frowning darkly, as Eli threw Gilbert over the saddle and then jumped up onto the saddle behind him.

"As long as my men are alive, he will live," Eli told them.

"N-no, Eli- damn it!" Lovino thrashed under Antonio, who was laying on top of him, holding Lovino's face to the ground and his hands behind his back. "Gerroff!"

"So you can pull out another weapon from some interesting place,  _mi carino?_ I don't think so," Antonio replied cheerfully, ignoring Lovino's struggling and cursing.

"You will only take his  _Majesty_  back to the kingdom to have him executed," Kiku pointed out, wincing, as Herakles tied the makeshift bandage around his bleeding thigh.

"No. My men… my men are precious to me. You let them live and I will keep this monster alive."

"His Majesty is  _not_  a monster," Matthew replied, violet eyes fierce. His hold on Feliciano's arms tightened slightly, making Feliciano squeak again.

Eli shrugged and kicked his horse. The group watched as the mare galloped away. Francis sighed, running his hand through his hair. He sheathed his rapier and turned around. Lovino was still trapped under Antonio. Matthew was looking torn, keeping his grip firm on Feliciano while his eyes darted to Alfred and Ludwig. Their two most powerful knights had been the first ones to fall. What luck that those two were the ones on watch. If it had been one of the others, they might not have survived the initial ambush in time to wake up everyone else. As of now, both Alfred and Ludwig were groaning and beginning to stir. Herakles finished wrapping up Kiku and got to his feet.

"Herakles, see to Alfred and Ludwig. Now, what are we supposed to do with prisoners?" Francis muttered to himself.

"I'm perfectly comfortable where I am," Antonio supplied helpfully.

"I fucking hate you," Lovino snarled. Antonio chuckled.

.

Gilbert woke slowly, eyes blinking open and then narrowing against the bright shine of sunlight directly overhead. For a long, oddly surreal moment, he stared at the swaying branches of the trees above and inhaled the sweet, smoky scent of burning wood. Gilbert's stomach felt bruised all the way to his spine and it was a little difficult to breathe at first. Someone was tutting in an annoying fashion somewhere to his left. He focused on figuring out what had happened instead of gutting whoever it was. Then, Gilbert remembered being held at knife point… and Francis… Finally, Gilbert turned his head, blinking when he saw Sir Eli sitting on a log, sipping something from a tin cup as a large horse grazed just behind him.

"That noise is really getting on my nerves," Gilbert said nonchalantly, turning his gaze back to the trees and sky.

"It's just sad, really, for a man to be unconscious for so long when I just punched him."

"Shaddup. I'm an  _awesome_  warrior. However, unlike some people, I find it more honorable to attack head-on, rather than coming up while everyone is sleeping," Gilbert snapped, biting back a painful moan as he sat up. Eli grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. What would  _your_ plan be if you were outnumbered almost three to one?" Eli retorted. Gilbert frowned.

"An ambush," he finally conceded. He glanced down at his wrists and then his ankles before looking up to see Eli's smirking face. "I'm not chained?"

"You should be asking why you're not already dead. Those men… Lovino and Feliciano… they're the only family I have. Your friends and I are… at an impasse. I can't kill you and they can't kill my men. So, we're stuck here, together, in this pretty little valley, until I can figure out a plan to save my men and tear out your heart."

"I'll be anxiously awaiting that plan of yours. Can I go take a piss?" Gilbert grunted, getting to his feet.

Eli waved a hand. "Pick a tree, I guess. Just stay in sight. You try to run, and I'll shoot you with an arrow."

"But you can't-"

"I never said I'd shoot something vital," Eli interrupted.

Gilbert remembered how callously the knight has kneed a  _certain soft spot_ , and blanched. Ambushing, crotch kicking, who knew what else this honor-less prick would do. He nodded his head to Eli and swaggered towards the trees, trying to look completely in control of the situation. Being a hostage, at someone's mercy, did  _not_  sit well with the Awesome Prince Gilbert.

 _King now… I suppose. My men seem to think so_ , Gilbert thought as he ducked behind a bush. He did his business and then glanced over his shoulder. Eli was staring off into space, sleek brown hair shining in the afternoon sunlight, most likely concentrating on how to kill Gilbert without putting those other knights in danger. Gilbert scowled.

"Arthur, where the hell are you? Come  _here_ ," Gilbert ordered fiercely.

"Once again, so rude. Oh, really? You're already in trouble? What  _is this_?" Arthur demanded. Gilbert jumped and stared wildly around him, wondering where the voice was coming from. "Up here, you blockhead." Gilbert arched back his neck and saw Arthur sitting neatly on a tree limb, legs crossed and wings flapping softly. "Well? Care you explain how I left you alone for  _twelve hours_  and you managed to get yourself captured by an assassin?"

"We were ambushed at dawn. It's not like I did it on purpose. Do something!"

Arthur sighed. "I really can't do much. I can protect you and do what I can to prevent your death, but I can't actively interfere. You got yourself caught, you get yourself free," Arthur retorted mildly. Gilbert gaped at him.

"WHAT?"

"You heard me. Your life isn't in danger right now. Don't worry. I'll be nearby to help out if and when I can, but… for now? Ta-ta," Arthur waved and vanished into thin air. One moment there, another gone.

"Of all the stupid…" Gilbert stomped back to the campsite, frowning thunderously. Eli glanced up, startled.

"Did something jump up and bite ya?"

"No."

"All right… well, I hope you got enough rest, Sleeping Beauty. It's time we're off. Even if I can't kill you, I might else well get you closer to the kingdom," Eli decided briskly. Gilbert glared at Eli, wondering how he could talk so casually to him about his impending death.

"I don't have a horse."

"Oh, it's fine. You'll ride with me. In front, like a good laddie, so you don't get any ideas of hopping off mid-gallop," Eli told him, grinning. Gilbert's mood did not improve.

Gilbert spent that whole morning riding uncomfortably on the very front of the saddle, Eli's arms around him. It brought to mind his first riding lessons with his father, which made Gilbert distinctly  _more_  uncomfortable with the position. It was also very awkward that Eli was slightly shorter than him, because his breath kept tickling the back of his neck. Gilbert clutched the pommel and gritted his teeth. They had managed to make a good headway southwest into Gilbert's country, which meant the way had been rocky, bumpy, and bare. The further south they travelled, the more mountainous it became, leaving behind the rolling hills and bare plains of the plateau that covered most of the inner kingdom. The kingdom's capital, however, was higher up in the Alpine mountains and Eli had led them up a lesser travelled way. The path they now travelled was rough and narrow, with an almost sheer slope on one side all the way down to the plateau they steadily left behind. When Eli finally pulled the horse up around noon, Gilbert groaned. He briefly debated jumping towards the slope and rolling down to the sparse shrubs and boulders at the bottom, but most likely he'd break a bone or even kill himself by bashing his head on a rock if he did that.

"Was that  _terribly_  excruciating?" Eli mocked after swinging down easily. Gilbert cut a glare in Eli's direction.

"I doubt you'd be better off if  _you_  were the one in my place," Gilbert grumbled. He tumbled off the saddle, grunting as his back hit the dirt. Eli laughed, fists on his hips, head thrown back, as Gilbert rolled over, swearing a bluestreak. "Can't you help me up, damn it?"

"No! Get up yourself. At least you won't be running very far, back-bruised and bowlegged like you are," Eli pointed out, still laughing uproariously. Eli reached up for the horse's bridle, stepping past Gilbert nonchalantly. "C'mon, now, Ilona."

Gilbert growled, blood boiling as Eli so neatly ignored him. He braced his hands on the grit and flung himself forward, throwing his shoulders against Eli's knees and knocking the knight's legs out from under him. Eli toppled over sideways with a squawk, arms flailing, scaring the horse into a quick canter away. Eli scrambled onto elbows and hands, but Gilbert was already on his knees and reaching for Eli's sword. Eli kicked out, catching Gilbert in the chest, sending him back on his butt with an 'oof'. With a quick motion, the sword was drawn, flashing in the air, before Gilbert returned the favor and booted Eli's hand. With a loud curse, the sword flew from Eli's grip and he caught hold of his hand, hissing. Gilbert half-crawled and half-dragged himself forward, intending to choke the bastard if he must. Eli twisted around, scrambling for the sword that lay just a few feet away.

"GAH!" Eli was slammed into the ground as all of Gilbert's weight fell over his back. Gilbert grabbed Eli's arms and twisted up them up between their bodies, making Eli shout in pain and flail his legs, trying to kick himself free.

"Stop- squirming- damn- it!"

"GET OFF!"

"No! I'm not going to let you kill me!" Gilbert snapped.

"What does it matter if you're alive or dead, if you don't even have a heart?" Eli exclaimed.

In shock, Gilbert's grip slackened for just a moment. That moment was enough for Eli to pull away and slam his elbow into Gilbert's nose. Gilbert fell back, clutching his profusely bleeding nose, cussing thickly. Eli rolled for the sword as Gilbert's hands ran over the path, searching for a rock big enough to bash Eli's brain in. Through half-squinted, teary eyes, Gilbert watched Eli get up into a crouched position, sword in hand, green eyes blazing. And then, with a low, sharp crack, the ground beneath Eli's feet shifted. Eli swayed, sword falling over the ledge, and suddenly the heels of Eli's boots touched nothing but thin air. The piercing scream that left Eli's lips made Gilbert's blood run cold, and, without thinking, he leapt forward and caught Eli's wrist as the knight fell towards the earth far,  _far_  below.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Eli shrieked, dangling off the edge, one arm held in Gilbert's clasp.

"I don't know! Just shut up and gimme your other hand!" Gilbert snapped, blood still pouring from his broken nose and sweat beading his forehead. Eli stared at him, baffled. "Don't be a twit and grab onto me!"

"But… I've been trying to kill you…" Eli whispered. A small shriek – so strange sounding… like a girl's, really – escaped Eli as Gilbert's grip slipped. He grabbed Eli's wrist tighter and pulled, muscles straining.

"I don't care! This is an unfair way to win! I beat you in combat or not at all! It's a question of honor, damn it!"

"Ho-honor?" Eli gasped, reaching out to grab Gilbert's arm with his free hand. His boots braced on the cliff. Gilbert gasped and pulled back. With a heave from both Eli's legs and Gilbert's arms, they managed to pull Eli up high enough to get his elbows on the ledge.

"Y-Yeah," Gilbert panted, falling back onto his butt, and gripped the smaller man under the armpits as Eli struggled to pull himself up. Both were sweaty, dirty, and wheezing when their eyes met. "The awesome me has to win my honor back from you."

He jerked and sent both of them falling back onto the dirt, where the ground was sure and steady beneath them. Eli fell on top of Gilbert, grunting in surprise, and Gilbert felt something soft and silky fall around his face, brushing over his cheeks and chin like gentle caresses. He groaned and reached up to bat it away, and stopped, eyes blinking open.

Above him was Eli, green eyes wide and startled, as long strands of brown, wavy hair fell around them. Gilbert raised a hand and grasped a fistful of it, then let it slide over his palm. Men having long hair was fine… but…  _this long_? He couldn't help but stroke the silky brown length of it between his thumb and fingers as he slowly sat up. Eli scrambled back, face a little red under dust and bloody scratches.

"Why is your hai-hai-hair..." Gilbert stammered to a halt, blood rushing to his face as Eli struggled to sit up straighter, wincing as bruises pulled. Eli blinked at him, wondering why he'd cut off. Baffled green eyes fell on Glibert's hand wrapped in that long strand of hair, then slowly drifted down… down… to where his tunic had torn and twisted to reveal the bandages wrapped so tightly around his chest that they concealed Eli was, in fact,  _not_  a he.

"Oh, shit," Eli grumbled. Gilbert's temper snapped.

"THAT'S IT? THAT'S  _IT_? YOU'VE BEEN A WOMAN ALL THIS TIME?"

"How does that change  _anything_?" Eli replied wearily. "I'm still the knight that bested you in combat."

Gilbert's eyes widened in horror. "No wonder you did  _that_. No  _man_  would-"

"No man would knee you in the testicles? Well, that's why I won. I play dirty because I  _am_ a girl," Eli retorted. With that said, she pulled a dagger from her boot and leaned forward so quickly the point of it was at Gilbert's throat before he blinked. "I win again, prince."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had about 4 chapter already uploaded onto ffn for years and I've FINALLY gotten around to transferring them over here. Here is the first one. ALSO! The spinoff of Sea Foam, the Spamano story, will be transferred over as well.


	8. Le Maître Chat, ou Le Chat Botté

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rarepair written for a dear friend, IkitsumiDaminito (I hope I remembered that correctly). It's Fem!America/Iceland! And of course, a dash of Spamano. And yes, it is splitting up the Snow White story. When I originally posted it on ffn, the second part wasn't ready, so I wrote and posted this chapter in its stead. I was going to post in the correct order here, but well, I made all my ffn readers wait for it. So you too must suffer, ao3 readers! muahahaha?

These Boots are Made for Fighting Ogres

Amelia didn't really like being alone. No. Scratch that. She hated it. The little house she lived in squeaked and groaned at night and reminded her of ghosts. She had to do all the chores in the house PLUS take care of the little farm all by herself. And the annoying landlord always bugged her to marry him – so he could "take care of her" – whenever she handed over the rent just  _barely_  scraped together.

Darn Alfred and his need for  _glory_ , his need to be a  _hero_. Darn him for going to be a soldier and leaving her alone. And darn him for not taking her, too!

"I bet I'd be just a good a soldier as Al," Amelia grumbled, kicking at a rock inconsolably.

Amelia was wandering down towards the village's marketplace, dragging her feet and pouting. Rent time was approaching fast and she was still short. And  _now_  of  _all_  times, the pantry was empty. Sure, Amelia had a garden, but most was going to be sold at the market next week. Besides, what the blonde girl  _really_  wanted was some  _meat_! How could she work herself half to death and  _not have meat_? It was suicide! Amelia needed her chickens alive to lay eggs and she didn't have a spare rooster. They had been sold all last month! She couldn't kill her cow, because she needed the milk. And the pig was hiding in the forest, getting fat, the stupid sow. (No, Amelia was not sparing her animals' lives because the idea of killing them made her cry and her stomach churn. Really. …Besides, Alfred hadn't ever done it either. They always gave the pig to the butcher and left a certain amount of the meat in payment.)

So Amelia had to go spend what little money she had to get a proper meal in her belly. Hopefully, if she got in and out fast enough,  _he_  wouldn't find out.

It went quickly enough, she supposed. The butcher coulda been a bit faster and she  _of course_   _would_  get distracted by the lovely blue and red dresses for sale and sitting so pretty on those faceless mannequins in the store window, but not even an hour had passed before Amelia was on her way back. She whistled and hummed, swinging her basket and skipping and frogtrottin' as she went. Amelia wished she could have gone with Alfred and been a soldier, too. However, King Arthur didn't let women in the army and they really didn't have the money to outfit  _two_  soldiers. They had saved up from the time they were just children to buy that horse for Alfred and there was no way Amelia woulda joined infantry. Cavalry officers were dashing, but also  _expensive._  That didn't keep her from wishing she coulda gone. Amelia sighed, shoulders slumping. She missed her brother. She wanted to go on adventure with him like they used to when they were children, before mother and father died. Not only that, how could Amelia trust  _anyone_  to take care of Alfred properly? The boy was hotheaded, impulsive, and sometimes downright stupid (not that she was any better, really). Who else could keep up with him?

Never one to be negative for long, Amelia perked up and told herself that Alfred was more than capable of taking care of himself. She had to believe in him! She gathered her fingers into a fist and thrust it over her head.

"Yeah! If anyone could come back, it would be  _my brother_ ," she announced, blue eyes shining brightly.

" _Ohonhonhon~_  How nice to hear such brave words," a deep voice chuckled. Amelia flinched and spun around.

Just off the road, leaning forward on the pommel of the saddle, sat a blond-haired man on a tall, grey stallion. The man's clothes were bright and flashy and made to fit his trim, perfectly proportioned body just right. He would have been quite the catch if he didn't make her so angry. He flicked his beautifully wavy and curled hair over his shoulder, slender hands looking just as unmarred and soft as usual. She hid her calloused, dirty hands behind her back, frowning.  _That_  was the real problem. He, with his perfect hair and perfect hands and perfect blue eyes and perfectly long, curling lashes, was  _so much prettier than her_! She looked too much like her brother to be pretty like him and with all the farming and chores she had to do, she couldn't even  _act_ like a lady. Instead, she got browner and freckle-er and more calloused every day.

N-Not that she  _wanted_  to be a lady anyway. She liked being strong and independent and  _the hero_ , just like Alfred. She tossed her head back, the honey-blonde curls bouncing around her face, blue eyes snapping as she grinned wolfishly.

"I ain't brave, Mr. Bonnefoy, that's my brother. He's gone off ta war, ya know? I'm just here holdin' down the fort till he comes back, 'cuz he  _will_ , ya hear?" Amelia retorted. With that, and a short, condescending jerk of her chin, she spun on her heel and marched away.

Francis watched her go, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Poor dear. She doesn't even know the effect she has. Be good to her, Antonio," Francis whispered, his tone light and teasing. He pulled the leads until the horse turned back around. Within moments, he was out of sight, despite his flashy clothing.

Amelia grumbled angrily to herself as she marched along. That jerk always had to come around and ruin a completely fine day! It was just unfair that such a stupid, pretty jerk was  _her_  landlord. She slowed down, frowning a bit. For once, the man had forgotten to ask her to marry him. Not that she  _wanted_  him to, it was just… well, he'd been asking ever since she turned sixteen. Alfred used to run him off, yelling at him for being a jerk and a peeping Tom. She didn't exactly know why Alfred had called him that, but… still… Almost two years of almost daily proposals and he'd forgotten today. Even though she'd been all alone.  _Maybe he'd finally got himself a fiancée, a_ real  _one?_  She pouted a bit at the thought. It had been fun to yell at him. Now her life was  _that much boring-er_.

She kicked at the dusty road again, tattered brown boots peeking out from under her long skirt. When Alfred finally managed to send back his first pay, she was going to get new boots. Yup. And more meat. Yup, yup.

"Meow."

Amelia stopped dead. "I didn't just say that, did I?" Amelia pondered out loud. 'Oh, dear Lord, I'm goin' crazy!"

"Meow!"

"I did it again! Shuddup, mouth!" Amelia cried, slapping her mouth. She winced and pouted, rubbing her smarting lips as tears gathered in the corner of her eyes.

"Meeeoooow."

Amelia blinked. No… that hadn't come from her at all! She raced to the side of the road. A shallow ditch ran there, so that water during the rainy season could collect to keep the dirt road from getting too flooded. She dropped to her knees, completely forgetting the long skirts she wore that were now covered in road dust and grass stains where she knelt. She leaned over the ditch and blinked. Blue eyes widened as a large white cat with a large sort of splot of very light muddy brown over his head and back meowed pitifully right under her nose. Though the cat was rather large, he was all fur and bones. His white fur was clumped and rather grey with dirt and dust and his poor tail and belly were covered in burrs from weedy fields. His claws were worn down to the nub and his paws were caked with dried blood.

"Ooooohhhhh, you poor darhlin'! Come home with Amelia, baby. I'll take good care of ya!" Amelia crooned. She reached out to pick him up, slowly and gently so not to startle him. He looked up at her, bright green eyes opening sluggishly. "Arencha a purdy little kitty-cat? Underneath all that dirt, 'nyways. I'm gonna feed you up and prettify ya, you'll see, huh?" Amelia all but sang, getting to her feet and trying not to jostle him. He purred for a few moments and weakly licked her arm then fell fast asleep in her arms.

.

She brought him home in good time. It took a little maneuvering, but she shoved her entire basket in the coldbox and hurried to fill the iron kettle in the fireplace with water from the bucket outside. All the while, she kept the large, dirty cat tucked against her chest. She stroked his ears and head gently as the water warmed and took down a tattered old towel and soap and her own brush.

"Okay, dahrlin', I'm gonna putcha in the water. Don't go all cat-crazy on me, ya hear? I gotta get ya cleaned up so's I can take care of your wee paws, right?" she crooned. The cat blinked up at her wearily, and merely licked her hand as she lifted him over the large washtub full of warm water.

Surprisingly, he kept rather still as she scrubbed him down. He didn't try to escape her or claw her or bite. He didn't even yowl. Just blinked sleepily and occasionally licked her hand in a reassuring way when she had to pull the burrs from his fur or clean his battered paws. It was quite astonishing, really. She whistled and chattered at him as she worked. Giving him silly names and telling about the farm and her brother. It was really nice to chat with somebody instead of just herself… even if he were a cat. She had him bundled up nice and toasty in the fire-warmed towel and was still back against her bedframe, stroking his silky ears.

"We're gonna be the best of friends, ya know? I'm awful lonely here without Al. I'm glad I found you, even though you're so rundown and all. I'll make up some beef stew in a moment and I'll go milk Spangled, the cow, while it's cookin'. You'll be all nice and clean and warm and belly-fulled up in no time. You'll stay with me, won'tcha?" she asked.

"Meow~" the cat seemed to reply as if he understood her. Then, his big green eyes closed and he was snoring like Al used to, making Amelia laugh out loud.

.

The next day, the cat was still there. In fact, he had cuddled up with Amelia on the bed before they fell asleep and he had been still curled up against her chest when she woke. He followed her around, big eyes shining, as she spooned out some more stew from last night for both of them, and watched as she went outside for chores. He stood by, tail flicking, as she milked Spangled, meowing as if in thanks when she laid down a saucer of fresh milk for him. He watched from the doorway of the hencoop as she gathered eggs, poured ground corn into a pan and water into another one. For the some reason, the hens didn't even notice the cat, their natural predator. He watched her trudge in the garden and good-naturedly slap the pig that had  _now_  appeared, begging for scraps. Then, she gathered up her harvested produce and most of her eggs and took off for town, grinning as the cat trotted at her heels.

"You must really like me, huh? Even though I gave ya a bath? Well, I like ya, too. But we really gotta decide on a name, ya know? I can't just call ya… puss or cat. Just ain't right," Amelia told the cat. His tail stood straight up like a banner and he merely meowed back at her. She frowned suddenly as the sound of rapid hoofbeats met her ears.

"Hello,  _mon belle_. You look especially ravishing today," crooned Francis' voice. She glared up at him as he drew even with her.

"You just keep your horse over yonder, Mr. Bonnefoy. I don' want that beast steppin' on  _my_  cat," Amelia retorted.

"Oho? A little pussy cat, is it? That is a fine looking cat, though he looks a bit battered," Francis noted, glancing down at the cat whom was blinking owlishly up at the landlord.

"Well, he's been run through the mill, yeah, but he's a good kitty. Been keeping me company all night 'n' mornin', he has. I wouldn't give him up for the finest cat in the world!" she declared stoutly. "Now, leave off. I've got sellin' to do."

"That little bushel of vegetables, even if you sell every last pea, won't be enough for rent," Francis pointed out in a soft, gentle voice.

"It's gonna be," Amelia snapped at him. He pulled his horse to a stop and swung down. She narrowed her eyes at him warily, but he merely bowed with a flourish and snatched up one of her calloused, dirty hands. He kissed her knuckles as if they were lily white and soft as silk and smiled at her blushing face.

"You work much too hard without near enough reward,  _mon belle_. Come away with me and let me treat you like a princess," Francis declared. Amelia yanked her hand away, shaking her honey-blonde curls and trying to ignore her hot cheeks.

"No, sir. I ain't a princess. I'm a knight, like my brother. I ain't gonna let no one treat me like something I'm not. Princesses are useless, anyway," she muttered. "And you ain't a prince. So have a nice day, Mr. Bonnefoy. Thanks for the proposal." She turned on her heel and stomped away.

Bright blue eyes looked down to bright emerald green. Slowly, the green-eyed cat winked.

"Oh, and Amelia?" Francis called as the cat bounded after her. She looked over her shoulder. "I believe your little puss's name is Antonio."

"Huh?" Amelia muttered. She glanced down as the cat reached her ankles. "Antonio?" The cat yowled happily. "If ya say so, then."

They continued walking the short distance to the village as Francis leaped back into his saddle and rode away. The day's selling did exceptionally well. So many people stopped by just to see Amelia's new cat. He was such a big, fine, beautiful animal despite his bone-thin body. His fur was really fluffy and silky, his eyes were big and bright, and he really played it up with all the ladies. It made her  _and_  the customers laugh to see him twine himself around a woman's ankles, purring and meowing and rubbing his head into people's outstretched palms. For lunch, she munched on buttered bread and cold, fried bacon, making sure to slip him a few thick slices. She sold every last vegetable and egg.

As they trudged home late in the afternoon, though, Amelia was frowning. She was counting out her coins, muttering and sighing and counting over and over again. Even if she hadn't spent that little bit the day before, she still would have been short. It wasn't by much, but it was enough. She'd never been late or short. Always, by the skin of her teeth, she'd scraped up enough. Alfred had left her with enough savings that they had thought it would be all right until he got his first payment. But three months, with the fourth coming up fast, was a long time. She could pray that Alfred's first letter and bit of money would come in time, but Amelia wasn't the sort to pray in a corner and do nothing. She shoved the coins into her pocket and looked down at her new companion.

"Well, puss, my friend, no more meat. And dear Jolly the sow will hafta be sold tomorrow ta the butcher an' I won't get a bit of her back. Hopefully she'll give me enough coin to make rent, but we'll be high and dry for the month after that. I'll have to sell Spangled or the hens. Maybe 'em all. If only I could go be a soldier like Al. If only I could  _do something_  instead a' ekkin' out bit by bit each month. Sweatin' and gettin' dirty and tearing up my hands. At least using a sword would be fun. But… all I got is a plow and a hoe. It's very disheartenin', puss," Amelia sighed wearily. "At least there's stew at home now, ya know? No good lookin' ahead if you're only bringin' down trouble, yeah?"

He meowed and she smiled in response. Quickly, she bent down and scooped him up.

"There we are. I bet your paws are getting tired with all your trottin' and flirtin' today. No use to wear 'em out right after I fixed ya up… Antonio?" She laughed aloud when his rough tongue licked her chin. "There's my boy."

Amelia made it to the farmhouse before the sun had quite gone down. Once again, he followed her around as she did her evening chores with the animals. Amelia spent a little extra time with Jolly, who hadn't run off to the forest yet, before slapping and hauling the pig into the barn for extra corn mush and leavings from the garden. Then, she went inside to tidy up the house and sew patches into her old, threadbare skirts and blouses. A stew bubbled away while Amelia worked. When it was finally readied, she ladled them both out some stew, Antonio's on his saucer and hers into a bowl. Amelia sat crossed legged on the floor, a heel of dark bread in one hand, the bowl in the other.

"Sorry, there's not much meat in this one. Mostly potatoes. But it's warm and fillin', right?" Amelia said apologetically as Antonio licked at the plate. He ignored the majority of the vegetables, but did slurp up all the gravy, and they finished their meals in comfortable silence.

Amelia set down her empty bowl, chewing on her last mouthful of bread, and stared out the window. Night had fallen now, stars filling up the patch of sky she could see. The night time was the worst. When everything got quiet and shadows got darker, and Alfred's empty bed in the attic loomed in her mind. She jumped, then laughed out loud, when Antonio climbed into her lap. He curled up there, tail twitching and purring loudly. She stroked his back and gave a soft sigh.

"I don't like it, Antonio. I hate it. I hate being hungry. I hate being alone. I hate trying so hard and gettin' nowhere. I like my animals well enough, and my garden, but I don't want this  _forever_. I want an adventure, too. I want to do somethin' glorious! I want… I want to be a hero, too." Amelia bit down on her lips, sniffling hard, but the tears were coming anyway. "I'm such a bad girl, always wantin' and hatin'. But why can't I? Why can't I make my dreams come true, too? It's not fair!" She threw her head back, tears now streaming fast and thick. "It's not fair, darn it! Where's my dream?"

She pressed her fists to her eyes, sobbing like a child, open-mouthed and gasping. She felt Antonio's head butt against her elbow, but she ignored it. Right now it felt good, so good, to cry and yell and rage. Tomorrow she'll feel bad and silly, but right now, she gave into it. "I wanna be a hero, too! I wanna protect the people I love and have adventures and I never wanna regret my life! It's not fair!"

"I can make you a hero,  _mi carino_ ," said a man's deep voice in a strange accent.

Amelia blinked and looked around wildly, rubbing at her running nose and eyes. The only thing her blurry eyes could see was Antonio, now sitting upright in front of her, green eyes glowing eerily and tail swishing around his paws.

"A-Antonio?" she mumbled, sniffling.

" _Si_ ,  _mi carino_ , it is I. Sometimes, things are not always as they appear," said that deep voice as Antonio's mouth moved– so oddly for a cat.

"Oh, G-God. I hafta g-go to bed," Amelia stammered, hiccupping and sniffling as she crawled on all fours towards her bed. "I'm hallucinating. I'm g-goin' c-crazy."

"No, Amelia, you are not crazy. I really am a talking cat," Antonio protested, leaping after her. She looked up to see him now standing on just his back legs, ears lowered and tail lashing. "I'm here to help you! You helped me,  _si_? I must return the favor!"

"Uh… b-but… cats don't talk. An' why ya standin' like that? It looks weird," Amelia replied stupidly. Antonio sighed and stepped closer. He lifted one paw and slapped her lightly across the face.

"I  _do_  talk. You are not dreaming. I'm going to help you become a hero," Antonio stated firmly. Amelia blinked rapidly, touching her cheek where his soft, squishy paw had just slapped.

"Oh. Wow. Uh…" With that, she passed out on the floor, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

Antonio sighed heavily once more. Grumbling to himself in his strange language, he leapt onto her bed and managed to pull and tug her thick quilt off with his teeth and claws. He wrapped her up in it, awkwardly used a handkerchief to wipe her face and nose, and then curled up on her chest, tucking his nose under his tail and purring.

"She'll understand in the morning."

.

She really didn't understand in the morning. Antonio followed her around, walking on his back paws like a little human, explaining that he came from a faraway kingdom where he'd been cursed for falling in love with a prince while he had been a mere landless knight in the prince's service. Not only was he acting above himself, a peasant knight in forbidden love with a prince, but a man loving another man was also forbidden in his kingdom. The queen had cursed Antonio to be a cat, so he travelled far and wide, hoping to find someone to help him break his curse. But being a cat was hard, and when Amelia had found him, he had been on the brink of death. He had been a very good knight once, and he swore to help her gain her dream, since she had saved his life. Amelia let it sink in as she did her morning chores. She really  _had_  to believe him. Really, how many cats  _could talk_? And he did have that strange accent, too.

"What about your prince? Did he love you, too?" Amelia asked suddenly as Antonio lapped at fresh cream. He looked up and licked his chops. He somehow managed to look unbelievably sad, even his whiskers drooped.

"I never knew for sure. When I was sentenced in my trial, he tried to argue for me. He didn't want them to punish me. When he saw me turn into a cat, he went wild and the guards had to drag him from the room. I've never seen him so furious. I heard that he was locked away somewhere. I hope he is better now. I hope he is free," Antonio murmured, looking out the window, towards the east. "It was not his fault…"

Amelia fell to her knees and scooped up the puss. She cuddled him close to her chest and rubbed her cheek against his broad head until he purred despite himself. "Okay. I'll become a hero. And together, we'll find a way to make you a man again! And we'll free your prince, too!"

Antonio laughed, an infectious, carefree sound that lit up the whole room. It reminded her of Alfred. Hearing that laugh, Amelia was sure the prince had loved Antonio, too, and she wondered what he had looked like as a man.

"First things first, Amelia! We must turn you into a hero! Do you think…" Antonio glanced away, ears flat against his head, making Amelia giggle. "Do you think you could find me a pair of boots?"

"I'll make you some if I can't find any!"

She did end up having to make the boots. After two days of constant struggling with leather from a pair of Alfred's old boots, she finally made a suitable pair and Antonio led her out into the woods, far from prying eyes, and taught her swordplay with long, heavy branches found on the ground or torn from trees. He taught her to climb trees until she could almost touch the sky, run like a deer, and walk in boots through a heavily-leaved forest without making a single sound. He taught her, also, how to act like a lady. How to curtsy, how to flirt, and how to laugh quietly and coyly. He didn't say why he taught her these things, but she soaked them up like a sponge. Francis had come to collect rent, warning her if she didn't make up the difference  _plus_  pay next months' rent, she would be evicted. Antonio, however, seemed completely unconcerned and only trained her harder. With three weeks, Antonio told her she was ready.

"Ready to do what?" Amelia asked, doing chin ups on a low-hanging branch on an oak tree.

"Ready to go on an adventure. You need much more training to be a proper knight, but we don't have much time. You'll get better if you go out and do something interesting. Besides, you learn quickly. Much like myself at your age," Antonio complimented her, licking his paws.

"Aw, shucks. Thanks, Tony!" Amelia exclaimed, swinging up into the tree and then hanging herself upside down by hooking her knees over the branch. She began to do crunches in the air.

"It is only truth."

"So, what kinda adventure?"

"I think we'll find one if we just start walking. First though, Amelia, you must sell your farm," Antonio told her softly. She paused mid-crunch and then flipped down to the ground, landing lightly on her feet. She braced her hands her hips and frowned angrily.

"Whaddaya mean,  _sell my farm_? That's my  _home_. One day, Al will come back and I wanna be there to welcome him home again! It's all we have!"

"How else will you afford a sword?" Antonio pointed out. Amelia bit her lip.

"But… it's… it's all we have…" she whispered, letting her head drop.

"Sell it back to Francis. Tell him to rent it, that you'll come back one day," Antonio suggested. Amelia rubbed her face with her wrist. When she looked up, she was grinning.

"You're definitely right. Let's go now." He jumped up into her waiting arms and she shoved his boots into her coat pocket. It was autumn now and getting chilly.

Francis tried to reason with Amelia, but bought back her farm in the end. When she left, her coin purse jingling, she rather thought he didn't haggle long enough. Nor did he seem very surprised. Instead, after his initial protests, he'd given her a price beyond what she'd been expecting and told her 'good luck', even though she hadn't told him why she was leaving. He had exchanged some strangely significant glances with Antonio, but the large tabby had refused to explain it. She gave her last good byes to her farmhouse, spending an extra-long moment hugging Spangled, who'd been her only friend for a long time. Then, she walked away with only a canvas sack of food over one shoulder and refused to look back.

She wasn't going to cry anymore.

"All right, kitty cat o' mine, what now?" Amelia asked late that afternoon as they ate lunch on the side of the road. They had already passed through the largest town close by, and not only chose a sword for herself, but also bought a small rapier for Antonio. She eyed him now, giggling silently at the picture he made.

"Now, it's time for the adventure. You heard in town that the nearest castle has been empty for years now, but recently, a terrifying ogre has moved in. People say that it roars all night long and paces through the nearby villages, stealing food and demanding the poor peasants to serve it. I've got an idea now. The castle is at least an entire days' walk, but we won't be walking," Antonio explained, licking the sausage grease from his paws.

"We aren't?" Amelia queried, mystified.

"Oh, no. Francis has a friend here who will lend us what we need," Antonio answered, stretching nonchalantly before standing upright. "This way."

She followed him back into town and blinked as they entered the doors of a music shop a few minutes later. Inside, all the instruments gleamed with polish, and in the back of the store, a fair-skinned beautiful man with dark hair played a violin with such exquisite talent, it brought tears to Amelia's eyes. It took her until he set aside his bow to notice the two others sitting on stools nearby. One was a man, tall and leanly muscled with bright silver hair, but a youthful face. When she met his eyes, she started in shock. They were blood red. Next to him sat a beautiful woman of voluptuous proportions and long brown hair that fell in waves to her waist. Her eyes were a merry, twinkling green that matched the mischievous smile on her pretty face. Yet, she too shocked the poor country girl. The woman wore breeches like a man and a broadsword was strapped to her waist, the exact size of the silver-haired man's.

"Don't look so guilty that you missed us, dear. Roddy's music does that," the knight-woman teased kindly.

"I really wish you wouldn't address me in that fashion in front of strangers, Elizabeta," 'Roddy' protested with mild irritation in an elegant voice that fit his beautiful face.

"Ah, don't be so stuffy. Can't you see her eyes buggin' out? I bet she's some bumpkin tryin' to be a- IS THAT A CAT WALKING IN BOOTS?" the silver-haired man shrieked, jumping to his feet. His strange eyes glittered in some manic glee. "THAT'S THE AWESOMEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN? HOW MUCH DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR CAT, GIRLIE?"

"A-Antonio is not for sale!" Amelia barely managed to sputter. She looked down to see if he would say anything, but he only stared intently at Gilbert. The manic gleam abruptly left the red-eyed knight's face and he stumbled, only the woman's hand on his elbow catching him.

"Antonio?" Gilbert whispered in shock. Elizabeta covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oh, Gil, we found him!" Elizabeta exclaimed in a soft voice.

"I'm here to help this girl. In the name of our very old friendship, I need this favor," Antonio finally piped up in a very strained voice.

"But, Tony, we have to take you home! We have-"

"I owe this girl my life. Another time,  _mi amigo_ ," Antonio interrupted quickly. Gilbert balled his fingers into fists and stormed out of the room. Elizabeta, looking after him anxiously, turned back to the strange pair and dropped to her knees.

"For you, Antonio, we'll do anything," she promised, reaching out to touch his head. He butted her palm with his nose.

"I need Roderich more now."

"What do you need, Sir Carriedo?" Roderich answered.

"Francis told me you'd done well enough in this province. Could you equip this girl, Amelia, like a princess?" Antonio asked simply. Roderich glanced at Amelia, who was completely lost by now, his gorgeous violet gaze taking her in slowly.

"Yes. It would be my pleasure," Roderich said at last, bowing slightly. Amelia dipped a quick curtsy, stumbled, and blushed bright red.

"While Roderich and I help Princess Amelia," Elizabeta winked at the flabbergasted girl, "why don't you make amends with Gilbert? We have been looking for you all this time and he's been very worried."

Antonio sighed. " _Si_.  _Muchas gracias,_ Elizabeta. Amelia, these two will take very good care of you. Trust them."

"A-All right, Tony. But… you gots some 'splainin' to do next time we're alone, got that?"

"Of course," Antonio agreed. He took off in the direction Gilbert had left. When Amelia looked up, both Roderich and Elizabeta were gazing at her, eyes glinting demonically.

"Do you think we have enough time for  _everything_ , Roddy dear?"

"Oh, we shall  _make time_ , Elizabeta dear."

"Uh. What's everythin'?" Amelia asked nervously. Elizabeta snickered.

.

A few hours later, Amelia was still unsure if she was the most comfortable or the most  _un_ comfortable she'd ever been in her life. She was wearing all silk and satin and malleable leather, riding in a well-sprung carriage with plush cushions filled with down, and she was squeaky clean from her toenails to the tips of her hair. She never knew her curls got that bouncy… But her skin was still smarting from the scrub down she'd gotten, the way she'd been turned and twisted around as Roderich and Elizabeta fit her for clothes, and how they'd had little regard for her privacy. She glanced over to Antonio, whom was staring out the carriage window, tail flicking now and then, and utterly silent.

"Hey… Tony? Whatcha doin'?" Amelia prompted anxiously. Antonio shook himself all over and perched next to her.

"It's time I begin my part. You stay in this carriage. Whatever you hear, agree to everything. Do you understand?"

"Agree… to everything?" Amelia repeated slowly.

" _Si_. I will be waiting for you.  _Adios, mi carino_."

"Wait, wha-!" she exclaimed, reaching out as he leapt from the carriage. She threw herself half-out the carriage window, gaping after Antonio. He'd not only landed safely, but was running on all-fours, even faster than the horses. "Well… what do I do now?" she huffed, falling back onto the carriage bench. She crossed her legs, grinning at the buckskin breeches she now wore. Breeches really were more convenient than a skirt.

She sat in the carriage, fuming as the afternoon dragged on and became increasingly hotter. Why couldn't she get out and walk or even ride up on the box with the driver? Maybe carriages were comfy, but they sure were boring! And the view was so limited – a tiny square she had to lean out to see anything of the road ahead. She leaned out now, letting the slight breeze ruffle her honey-blonde curls. The relief was short-lived, and she braced herself up on her elbows, glaring into the distance. Just what was she supposed to do in a carriage? Why was Antonio off on an adventure instead of her? And why wouldn't anyone answer her questions about Antonio? When she had pressed Elizabeta earlier, the older woman had only changed the subject. Multiple times. Or shoved candy in Amelia's mouth. The candy was nice. The secrecy wasn't.

 _What was she supposed to do_?

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and blinked again. Sure enough, a lone figure, small and pale, was trudging down the street. The closer she got, the more her eyes widened. The figure turned out to be a young man with short, pale hair; more blond than Gilbert's, but not by much. He was short and lean and wearing only his underclothes – long drawers that tied at the knees and a white, linen blouse. She pummelled the roof of the carriage even as it began to slow.

"Hey, hey, stop! We hafta help that boy!" Amelia yelled up at the driver.

The driver sighed. He was a strange, silent man with a perpetual scowl and a pipe that was always smoking. It smelled rather odd, but Amelia didn't really care about pipesmoke now. She jumped from the carriage, leaving the door swinging, before it had even come to a complete stop, and ran towards the poor, stripped boy. The closer she got, though, the more she realized he was a little older than she first suspected. He looked right around her age and completely embarrassed. His pale face was flushed brightly and he was holding a large, black bird with a long, yellow beak in his arms. He looked exhausted and dirty and like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Knowing the feeling well, Amelia took off the long, bright blue coat Roderich had forced her into and handed it over to the young man, blushing faintly herself.

"Here. For you. I don't need it," Amelia offered shortly. The man stared at the coat, then back up at her.

"Why? It's your coat."

Amelia glanced at him, blue eyes wide. He looked perfectly serious, though. She burst out laughing.

"You're in yer knickers and you're askin'  _why_  someone's handin' ya a coat? Take it, boy, and come get a ride. Where ya headed?" Amelia replied, still chortling as the man gingerly took the coat. He held it in one hand, confused. It was as if he weren't accustomed to much kindness.

"Um, I'm heading to the castle nearby. There's an ogre there that I'm going to defeat," the man said in a very unconvincing tone. The idea seemed as distasteful to him as the large blue coat in his hands.

Amelia propped her fists on her hips. "Well, you're too late. I'm gonna defeat that ogre, thank ya very much. 'Sides, you can't do much of nothing if you ain't even got on pants, yeah? That coat ain't gonna bitecha. Ah, my name's Amelia. Amelia Jones."

"Ah. I know that name," the boy said faintly. He glanced down at the strange bird. "Who said it- oh yes. A strange talking cat. He said a princess was coming in a carriage and to take her help when she offered it." He looked at Amelia. He took in the pale tan breeches, the knee-high leather boots, the wide leather belt where her rapier hung, the white and blue striped blouse tucked into the waist band of her pants, the crimson waistcoat that hung unbuttoned, and her short bob of honey-colored curls. "You don't look anything like any princess I've met," he told her bluntly.

"Eh… is that a bad thing?" Amelia asked, quirking up one eyebrow. "I'd much ruther consider myself a hero, anyways. But if Tony said 'princess', then I guess I'm a princess, too."

The mostly-undressed boy stared at her a little longer. She realized, when their eyes met, that he had eyes a delicate shade somewhere between blue and purple. They looked rather big, but beautiful in his pale, fine-boned face. If anyone looked remotely like a princess, this young man did. He was just so pretty, and he spoke so simple and brisk, as if each word were carefully weighed and thought out before he spoke, and as if each sound were dragged out of him. What would it be like if he smiled? Or even if he  _laughed_? She suddenly had a fierce instinct to protect him. If only he'd agree… "No," he finally said aloud.

She pouted, severely disappointed. "Fine. If you're gonna be a jerk, keep the coat," Amelia mumbled, turning on her heel.

"No, I mean- I didn't-! Wait," the young man's voice sounded desperate and rushed, the words tripping over each other as if tangled. She looked over her shoulder and saw him stumble forward, his face suddenly weary and pained. "I didn't mean no to the offer, Lady Amelia! I meant, no, it's not a bad thing! That… that you're different," the man tried to explain. Amelia blinked and then grinned widely.

"Well, why didn't ya say so? What's yo name, boyo?"

"E-Emil… Viscount of Lesser Navia."

"Navia? Ain't that up somewhere north? Where the glaciers and the lights in the sky are?" Amelia asked eagerly, blue eyes shining. Emil nodded silently. "That's so… so… awesome! But whatcha doin' so far south? Surely there are adventures up there?"

"Adventures my brother, the Prince of Lesser Navia, would never let me join," Emil muttered. Amelia grimaced in sympathy and then led him into the carriage. She took the bird from his arms gently, cuddling it close to her chest when Emil made a noise of protest. He stared when the bird merely laid its head on her bosom. She grinned.

"I'm good with animals. Now put on that coat and we'll keep goin' on."

"… he doesn't normally get on with strangers."

"S'okay, really. Get up in there. You look like death walkin'! Hey, Ned, we'll continue on with him, s'that a'right?" Amelia shouted up to the driver as Emil hurriedly put on the coat and sat down.

"Don't got a choice, do I?" Ned, the driver, muttered, tapping out used ash in his pipe and stuffing it anew. "Let's ride on. We have a ways t'go."

"Righto!" She hopped into the carriage, passed the black bird back to Emil, and slammed the door closed. The carriage jerked forward and Amelia gazed at Emil, waiting eagerly for his story. Emil sighed.

"I guess I owe you an explanation?"

"Pay for the ride, my good fella!" Amelia chirped. Emil's mouth twitched, but the smile didn't quite form. Amelia mentally cursed (if 'darn' is a curse…).

"My brother is a Prince of Lesser Navia. In the north, there are the Greater and Lesser Duchies of Navia-"

"And then there's the Kingdom of Svorsk and then there's the Duchy of Fenns," Amelia interrupted eagerly. Emil nodded his head in acquiescence. Amelia grinned, then her eyes widened. "Oh, sorry! I interrupted! That was so rude!" she exclaimed in horror.

"It's quite all right. Mathias is much ruder about it than you," Emil retorted dryly. "Mathias is the King of Greater Navia. He and my brother and the King of Svorsk have known each other since they were children. They always went off on great adventures and everyone knows their names, even so far down south as here."

"Waitwaitwait- Svorsk…  _Berwald Oxenstierna_!" Amelia breathed in shock and awe. "He's... he's a  _hero_. He and his friends destroyed the ice worm and its demon mother ten years ago!"

"Yes. My brother is the magic wielder of the tales," Emil said shortly. Amelia looked awestruck.

"That-that's amazing!" she gushed. The stardust left her eyes when she noticed the expression on his face – jaded, bitter, yearning. She knew that well, too. She smiled and leaned forward to touch his hand. "That's also a lot to live up to, yeah?"

He jumped a bit, startled at her touch as much as by her words. Slowly, he relaxed and, for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of a relieved smile that was quickly wiped away.

"It is. Especially when  _he won't let me try_. I'm a great deal younger than he. His mother died and his father took another, much younger, wife. My mother died when I was born and our father, already old, died when I was barely two years old. My brother took care of me and is  _very overbearing_ ," he explained in clipped tones, his aura darkening. She could almost see the dark cloud hanging over him. "I was given the viscountcy when I was fifteen, but my brother won't let me leave to see it! I tried to be a knight in the Fenns, but Timo told me he couldn't go against my brother!  _The heir apparent to an entire duchy won't go against my brother._  Timo can be really scary when he wants! I've seen him lift a  _whale_! My brother knows some crazy people! And they  _all baby me_! Timo is my own age, but because he's Berwald's betrothed now he thinks he's  _so much older_ , so he has to be responsible! It's infuriating! Everywhere I go, it's all about my brother! People don't even remember my name!" he shouted, his face red. He stopped short of breath, gasping a bit.

"Emil." Amelia said softly into the heavy silence. He glanced at her, wheezing. "I remember your name. Your name's Emil. I won't forget, promise." She held up her hand, pinkie extended.

He stared at her pinkie and then looked up. "What do I do with that?"

She giggled and then grabbed his hand. She positioned his hand properly and then curled their pinkies together. "It's a pinkie swear. You can't break a pinkie swear or something horrible will happen! I pinkie swear to never forget your name and to take you on a great adventure, Emil!"

"… I… I pinkie swear, too, Amelia?" Emil said slowly. Amelia grinned.

"Good enough!" Her eyes widened as a small smile curved his lips. He looked  _so pretty_. She blushed a bit, making  _him_  blush, and they quickly pulled their hands away.

"So, where are we?"

"Uh, no idea?"

"I thought this was  _your_  kingdom, Princess Amelia?" Emil asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Right. So it is. Uh, that's my… wheat field out there," Amelia lied desperately, glancing out the carriage window.

"Indeed?" Emil questioned. She chuckled weakly. He rolled his eyes and called for the driver to stop. Seeing a farmer nearby cutting hay, he called out, "Excuse me, sir, could you tell me who this land belongs to?"

The farmer looked up, paused a moment, and then leaned on his scythe. "Why, all this here land and the villages 'round abouts all belong t'her Highness, the Princess Amelia. Ain't that her carriage now?"

Emil ducked back inside. They both stared at each other, Amelia still grinning weakly. Emil turned back to the farmer. "It is! … Umm… continue… cutting? Let's go on, Ned," the viscount shouted up to the driver. The carriage lurched forward.

"See? Toldya?" Amelia said, her right eye twitching a bit.

"Are you really Princess Amelia?"

"Of course I am! I'm definitely Amelia!" she snapped. She glanced away and pouted. "I wouldn't lie 'bout my own name, ya know."

Emil still eyed her skeptically. For the rest of the trip, Amelia made a point to stop Ned every time they passed a person to ask how they were and whose land they were in. Even Amelia was surprised by the extent of Antonio's actions. Apparently, the man-turned-cat had been quite busy. They got bored of proving "whose land it was" rather quickly and Amelia got the story of how Emil lost his clothes finally out of him. It involved three bandits, one that talked like a gentleman and held only a whip, another that was obviously a woman with a broadsword, and the third was a foul-mouthed man with silver hair and strange red eyes. She bit down on her lip, wondering just what was going on and why those three would steal poor Emil's clothes. She kept her thoughts to herself, however. It was fast becoming night now and Emil was sound asleep. She finally learned that his bird was called a  _puffin_ , and she had offered to hold him when Emil began to list wearily to the side. He protested at first, but the puffin took it upon itself to fly into Amelia's lap. Within moments, Emil had passed out. She propped her elbow up on the window again, leaning on her hand, absently watching the young man sleep. There was something so soft and gentle about him that made her smile a bit, her eyes beginning to fall.

Hopefully he  _would_  stick around and have adventures with her. It would be nice to have such a pretty, soft-spoken boy like him with her all the time. Maybe she'd get to touch his hair one day… She jolted awake what seemed like seconds later. Emil fell to the carriage floor and groaned out loud. She heard a low hiss of a cat as she blinked groggily and reached down to help up Emil.

"Oh, I hafta do… something- uh, check on what happened. You stay here, yeah?" Amelia floundered when she got Emil back on the carriage seat. She hurtled out of the carriage before he even had his eyes all the way open. Ahead of the carriage loomed the castle keep, its drawbridge lowered, but the portcullis still in place. She saw a gleam of emerald and hurried to the moat's edge by the bridge. Antonio stood there, his paw on his rapier.

"It's time for your adventure, Amelia. Did you find the viscount?"

"Yeah, I did. Did Elizabeta-"

"No time for questions. The ogre will know we've come soon. You must proceed on foot. Ned has a spare sword for the boy if he requires one. You must hurry into the keep when I lift the portcullis. Be ready,  _mi carino_!" Antonio interrupted rapidly. He took off over the drawbridge, even his wee boots silent on the half-rotted planks.

She ran back to the carriage to see it had been turned around and Ned standing by the horses. "M'goin' back now. Take the kid and the sword. G'luck, girlie," Ned said roughly, shoving the longsword into her hands.

She nodded mutely and went to fetch Emil. "Emil, we're here."

"Here?" Emil repeated, getting out of the carriage. "Where's 'here'?"

"My… castle? Eheh? Only there's an ogre inside we have to defeat, first. Then you can have some dinner and a bed."

Emil froze, his eyes locked on her features, pupils gleaming in the starlight. "Excuse me?" he jumped as Ned whipped the horses and rode away. "Wh-what is going on?!" he all but shrieked.

"I don't really know myself. But there  _is_  an adventure ahead and that's a good thing, yeah? Oh, here's a sword. Dunno know if you had one before, but Ned had this one."

Emil took it, hefted it easily, checking its balance, before buckling it on with trembling fingers. "I have no idea what to think! You're a princess who owns all this land, but there is an ogre in your castle and you have no idea why or how? Where are your knights? Where are all the servants-" he broke off as the portcullis whined.

"There's no time! You have to just trust me, Emil! Be a hero with me. Like your brother," Amelia urged. Emil stared at her.

Amelia grabbed his wrist and took off running. The drawbridge rumbled and shook under their pounding feet. Amelia's boots thudded loudly, but Emil's bare feet were silent. The portcullis was barely waist high, and without hesitation, Amelia dropped and rolled under it.

"C'mon, Emil!" Amelia gasped as she got to her knees on the other side. It began to fall, then caught itself. "Hurry. Antonio only has so much time left."

"Who's Antonio?"

"A friend. He's helping me. C'mon, quickly!"

Emil dithered a breath longer, then Mr. Puffin flew from his perch on Emil's head. He slipped through the bars and landed on Amelia's shoulder. Emil grimaced and dropped to his knees. "If you're going to be like that, Mr. Puffin, you can stay home next time!"

Amelia helped him up on the other side, just in time. The portcullis slammed shut right on Emil's heels. He jumped again, falling against Amelia's chest, their hands still clasped. They stared at each other, both blushing brightly. She could see his fair lashes this close, so pale they were transparent, and despite his trials of the day, he still smelled faintly like licorice. Licorice was her favorite kind of candy…

"Amelia! Are you both in?" Antonio's voice echoed quietly. Emil and Amelia quickly stepped away, shuffling a bit awkwardly.

"Yes, we're here, Tony. Where are- ah, there you are! You must be exhausted," Amelia noted as Antonio bounded into sight. Emil stared at him.

"Hey! It's you! The cat that talked to me! It wasn't a dream?" Emil exclaimed.

Antonio hissed at him. "Silence! The ogre is sure to be awake! Look, there is a fire burning!" An outstretched paw pointed towards an upper story window. "We must hurry, Amelia. We need the surprise! An ogre may be too much for you otherwise."

"I'll help her," Emil retorted, stepping forward. Amelia grinned at him. He glanced away, his cheeks pink. "We have a pinkie promise to have an adventure  _together_."

"Yeah, you're right. So let's go!" Amelia proclaimed under her breath. "Lead the way, Tony!"

Amelia and Emil jogged after Antonio, Mr. Puffin gliding next to Emil's shoulder. Antonio led them to a tiny kitchen door through a wild herb garden. Inside, everything was covered thickly with dust. A few disturbances were seen when the kidnapped villagers had to come down to prepare food, but the ogre could never keep a servant long. They always managed to escape, spreading tales of its greed and hunger and its incessant groaning. It was always throwing things and breaking things and even hurting itself in its rampages, screaming in some monster language no one could understand. The further they travelled into the castle, the more damage and wreckage they found, all filthy and dusty and rotting.

"Amelia… all this stuff is old.  _Years_  old. Are you sure this is  _your_  castle?" Emil whispered in an undertone as they quietly climbed yet another set of stairs in a quickly-narrowing tower.

"Um, yeah. Sure. I just haven't been here in a while. Yeah?"

Emil glanced at her. "I hope you'll tell me the truth later. You know, if we  _live_  through this," he replied wryly. Amelia gave him a relieved smile.

"You betcha, Emil. Don't worry, 'kay? We'll get through it fine."

"I'd feel more confident with pants," he snapped. Amelia stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep in the giggles.

Antonio was waiting at the next landing, his green eyes bright and serious. Amelia and Emil both drew their swords when Antonio did, then crept forward. With a burst of speed and strength, they burst through the door and stumbled into a large room. The walls were hung with moth-eaten tapestries, and a large armchair was set up in front of a roaring fire. One leg was broken, so it listed strangely to the side. A huge canopied bed was shoved into a corner, most of the hangings on the ground or hanging from tarnished bronze hooks. Everything about the room was moldy and smelly. Including the huge monster that rose from the chair.

The fire was at its back, so it was impossible to make out its feature. Its hair was long and matted around its earlobes, his shoulders bulging with muscles under vaguely greyish skin. A pair of tattered brown trousers hung at its waist, and in its hulking hand with its bulbous knuckles, a huge carving knife, most likely used for eating, but very easily used for killing.

"Dive!" Amelia screamed, throwing herself into Emil and towards the ground as the huge creature lunged. The ogre's large hand barely missed them.

Emil and Amelia scrambled away and separated, tripping and sliding on the rotted rugs and half-gnawed bones strewn everywhere. Antonio stabbed at the ogre's ankles, making its eyes roll in its head, the whites flashing in firelight, as it roared in pain and anger. The knife flashed, but Antonio was already across the room. It whipped its head around and found Emil, propped up against a wall, the naked longsword by the door – and nowhere near his hand. With an ear splitting scream, the ogre barreled toward Emil.

"No! YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Amelia bellowed, running forward and throwing herself against the small of the ogre's back. Emil rushed for his sword as Antonio leapt onto the creature's shoulders, claws of one paw sinking into flesh.

The creature ripped Antonio away and threw him onto the bed, making him yowl. The ogre paused groping for Amelia, staring towards the bed. Amelia's face, and therefore one ear, was pressed against the creature's greasy back, and she could distinctly hear the creature's low, guttural rumble. Her eyes widened, and then a bird cawed loudly. Mr. Puffin was in the ogre's face flapping and pecking, until Amelia was thrown aside by its flailing at the bird. She felt a slender arm wrap around her waist and looked up to see Emil's intensely frowning face.

"You rush from the side. I'll come up from behind. Antonio should be able to jump to its shoulders and drive his sword straight through its throat," Emil strategized grimly. Mr. Puffin flew out of the ogre's range and it stumbled over the armchair with an agonized cry.

Amelia gripped Emil's wrist.

"No, Emil. I have another idea. We can't kill him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I mean!" Amelia exclaimed. She threw her sword across the room and stood up. "Hey! Yeah, you! I ain't gonna fight you!"

The ogre stared at her. Emil stared at her. Puffin stared at her. Even Antonio was staring at her. She grinned recklessly.

"Things aren't always like they seem, right? I bet you aren't so mean and nasty as you look, huh, ogre? In fact, I bet, under all your bluster and roaring and big mean fists, I bet you're really scared," she stepped forward, her arms outstretched.

Emil grabbed her shoulder, but she shook him off. The ogre got to its feet, but only stared at her.

"It's all right to be afraid, ya know. It's all right to be ashamed, too. I know what it's like. To be ashamed to look at myself. To be ashamed of what I saw…." She clenched her fists and felt the calluses of all those years of work. "But ya know what I found out? I'm somethin' better inside than outside. And no matter what I look like, as long as I smile, as long as I do my best to be kind, fantastic things will happen. I mean, look at me! Yesterday, I was a farmer's daughter, all alone in the world. Now? An entire land says I'm their princess, I'm on an adventure, and I got to meet the most beautiful boy I'd ever thought I'd meet! And my cat talks! Isn't that somethun?"

The knife fell from the ogre's hand.

"What were you yesterday? What were you a few weeks ago? Huh, Mr. Ogre? Were you always so ashamed of yourself? Were you always what you are now?"

The ogre made a strange noise and then fell to its knees. The noises were soon easily recognized as sobs, great, loud, soul-wrenching sobs. Snot and tears mingled on its face, making it more gruesome than ever, but Amelia closed the distance between them and embraced it. She laid her blonde curls, so shining and bright in firelight, against its lank, greasy hair, and soothed it like a mother would a crying baby. She even gently stroked its head and placed its cheek on her chest.

"It's all right. I know. I know you're different on the inside. I know you're scared and lost. But all it takes is admitting your fear. I know who you are. I don't know your name, but I know who you are," she murmured. The ogre sniffled and she leaned away to meet its eyes. Bright golden eyes, wide and desperate.

"You're Antonio's missing prince, aren't you? They punished you, too, didn't they?"

Those wide eyes dilated. Then, before everyone's eyes, the creature's body began to collapse in on itself. Flesh brightened in hue to a light olive; hair shortened and brightened into dark chestnut, a single curl unfurling like a flower; muscles sank into flesh; jagged, talon-like nails became rounded and clean; fangs shrank into gleaming white teeth- until a lean, sickly-pale young man, still covered in snot and tears, was wrapped in Amelia's embrace. They both fell to their knees.

"How… how can you… how did you…" the sobbing prince tried to ask.

Amelia grinned. "Because. When you threw Antonio, you stopped. I heard you say his name. It was pretty easy, yeah? Antonio was too busy protectin' me t'notice. If he saw your eyes, I know he woulda recognized you."

"He tr-tried to kill me. He… said he would love me forever… it was all my fault, but the stupid bastard shouldn't have tried to kill me!" the prince exclaimed, rubbing at his face as his tears continued to fall.

Antonio slowly crept forward, a cat in boots only, his tiny rapier gone.

"L-Lovino?"

"Oh, yeah, now you get it! I got turned into a monster and sent far away because of you! You got turned into a stupid fucking cat! Big fucking deal!" Lovino snapped, clutching Amelia tighter and hiding his face in her bosom. Amelia giggled.

"Erm… what is going on?" Emil asked, edging closer. Whoever this ogre-turned-man, or man-turned-ogre-turned-man, was, his face  _did not_  belong between Amelia's breasts.

"It  _is_   _mi amore_! Lovi!" Antonio exclaimed. He climbed between Amelia and Lovino, forcing himself onto Lovino's lap, purring ridiculously loudly.

"Geroff! You tried to kill me, remember!"

"Forgive me, Lovi! I'll make it up to you! Amelia, I owe you even more debt! I could never repay you!" Antonio said between purrs as he rubbed his head against Lovino's stomach and tried to climb to his chest.

"Ah, jeez, stop that!" Lovino snapped, pulling away from Amelia and picking up Antonio under the armpits. He glared at Antonio's cheerful kitty face, then scowled even darker. "I can't smack you around if you're a cat. Damn it."

"Pet me _, mi amore_!"

"Well, what do we do now? I still need pants  _and_  I'm exhausted," Emil pointed out with a "hmph" as he fell to his butt on the floor next to Amelia. She smiled over at him, making his cheeks pinken again.

"We'll think of somethin'."

"Pinkie promise?" Emil muttered, glancing away and holding up his hand, pinkie extended. Amelia giggled and twisted their pinkies together.

"Pinkie promise."

.

Soon enough, Gilbert and Elizabeta came, with Emil's personal effects still in their saddlebags; Roderich had returned home much earlier. They took the whole group to a nearby tavern. They had hoped Emil, Amelia, and Antonio would come back alive and had gotten the rooms ready for that, but they never imagined the ogre was Lovino, their very own prince whom they had served with Antonio just months before. Emil suggested the prince travel with him back to Navia where his sorcerer brother might be able to cure Antonio's curse. Also, male couples were more than allowed, they were even encouraged in Navia. His good friend Timo, the heir prince of the Fenns,  _was_  engaged to the King Berwald after all. Amelia suggested seeing the king of her own country, who was reputed to be a magician himself, but when Emil pointed out she wanted adventure and going to see the North would be much more an adventure than seeing her capital, she readily agreed to accompany them. Gilbert and Elizabeta decided to join them as well, to keep up Amelia's sword training and because they wanted to make sure Antonio could be returned to his original body safely.

Though, Lovino  _was_  growing rather attached to Antonio's cat body that he could pick up or stick in the closet as he felt like it.

.

Amelia and Emil stood at the prow of a ship months later, their breath forming white clouds before their lips in the cold Arctic air. She grinned, bouncing on the heels of her feet. So far, she'd had a great adventure just getting this far north. There were bandits and daring rescues and a fire in that one village a few weeks ago and every day something new and exciting to see. She wrote poorly crafted letters to Alfred and sent them almost every day she could, and every now and then, got a just as poorly written reply back. Apparently, Alfred had become a favorite of the King's for his simple cheerfulness and immense strength. He told Amelia he didn't mind the farm had been sold, but he expected to come visit her one day, since King Arthur did have neutral-bordering-on-friendly treaties with the Hero Kings of the North, as they were called. She hoped she would see him, but she mostly couldn't wait for another adventure to begin.

Emil was getting excited, himself. His brother had sent a messenger for him in the last port city, and they were on a ship directly headed towards Lukas's capital city and his main home. As much as he hated living in his brother's shadow, he did love and miss his brother. He glanced at Amelia's widely-grinning face and cold-flushed cheeks. She blew on her fingers suddenly, wincing, and Emil sighed. He reached over and grasped her hands.

"You forgot your mittens. Do you want frostbite, Amelia?" Emil demanded, rubbing her hands between his wool-covered palms and breathing on her fingertips. As self-sufficient and strong as Amelia was, she still needed looking after because she was just too reckless and absent-minded. It felt nice to do the looking after, rather than being babied.

Amelia blushed even brighter as he warmed her chilled hands, but grinned carelessly. "But I got so excited! You said we'll see the lights soon! I've wanted to see 'em my whole life! Well, ever since I heard 'bout 'em, and my pops used ta tell me stories 'bout 'em when I was a tyke, so, yeah, pretty much my whole life!" Amelia explained in a rush. Emil smiled softly at her. He was a little shorter, and it made her heart constrict painfully when he glanced up through those pretty lashes to meet her gaze. Especially when he was smiling at her like he was doing now.

"They aren't going to disappear."

"Promise?" Amelia asked, grinning cheekily.

"Pinkie promise."

They grinned at each other. Then, something flashed in the corner of their eyes. They turned together and Amelia's breath caught in her throat. Above her, colors rippled in the sky, like curtains made of dyed glass. It filled the night sky, and just barely she could make out the twinkle of stars beyond it, which only made the image grander. She and Emil gazed at the Northern Lights silently, reverently, with their hands still clasped.

_I'm the luckiest girl in the world._

And she lived…

Happily Ever After


	9. Schneewittchen Part II

Ebony Black

Eli, really the Princess Elizabeta of the Magyar kingdom, was staring gloomily into the fire that night, poking the embers with a twig. Gilbert sat a short distance away, hands tied together in front of him and ankles hobbled with more rope. Without her sword, Gilbert was too unpredictable to keep unleashed. She sighed, ignoring the twinge of guilt. Sure, the man had saved her life, but it was for a selfish reason, right? It was because of his stupid, " _awesome_ " honor. Annoying blockhead. Who saves their  _assassin's_  life just to get a second chance at a fair fight?

 _He_ _ **saved**_ _your life_ , a teasing, deceptive voice reminded her silently. She shook her head. That did not mean she could let him go. She was going to take his heart to King Roderich. Why? Because that was her job. Because the Magyar people were under the rule of Roderich and the oppression could only get worse if she failed. Because Roderich, as strict and tyrannical as he was, was surely better than an unfeeling monster without a heart. Because a monster who had killed his own father to get ahold of a crown  _needed_  to be destroyed to save that kingdom.

Because, in the end, she was in love with Roderich. Beautiful, elegant, charming Roderich. Ever since she was a little girl, sent to live in his castle as a hostage for her parents' good behavior, she loved Roderich. She loved how gentle he was with her, how he played piano and violin and created music that lived in the air as she listened. She loved that he would genuinely be pleased to see her wearing silly skirts and dancing like a lady, but also be proud of her when she wielded a sword like man. She loved his weary face, the face he showed only to her, when all his responsibilities became too heavy to bear with a poised smile. She loved that, when she finally told him her feelings, he had smiled at her, laid his hand on her head, and told her there was no one else in the world he could possibly trust to be at his side. He promised to give her people more independence, that he would alleviate the taxes and laws that crippled her people now, but had been so necessary to the security of the kingdom. Everything would be better when they were married, he promised, when they and their kingdoms were equal. When Gilbert, the prince without a heart, was dead. She looked up at Gilbert again and frowned.

"You mentioned honor."

Gilbert glanced up at her, scowling. "Yeah, what of it?"

"I find it a bit rich, is all," Elizabeta replied with a slight, contemptuous shrug of her shoulders.

"Well, I find it a bit rich that a woman needs to masquerade as a man to wield a sword," Gilbert snapped. Elizabeta growled.

"I'm good at it! Just because I'm a woman shouldn't keep me from doing what I do best and  _love_!" Elizabeta retorted angrily, stabbing at the coals of the fire viciously. His words stung. While Roderich approved of her skills, he never let her announce her gender openly. She was always Sir Eli or Princess Elizabeta. Never just Elizabeta. Of course, it was for the best to hide it.

"Why hide it?" She glanced up, surprised. It was Gilbert's turn to shrug. "You  _are_  good. Better than even my knights. Just slice up anyone stupid enough to comment on the fact you're a girl. If you had come to me, I would've allowed you into my knights as a woman."

"That's a lie," Elizabeta hissed, eyes narrowed. Gilbert spat angrily to one side.

"I don't lie. Lying is for cowards, so is hiding who you really are. I choose my knights based on skill and honor, not race or gender, or even brains. I mean, if it were, I wouldn't have let Alfred in, cuz, lemme tell you, he's not all up there —"

"There it is! That  _honor_  thing. What can a heartless monster know about — "

"I AM NOT A MONSTER!" Gilbert bellowed, struggling to get to his feet. He toppled over, dangerously close to the fire, falling onto his face. He lay there unmoving as Elizabeta stared at his back. He spoke up again, his voice muffled by dirt, "I am  _not_  a monster. I tried… I tried to make my father proud of me the only way I could — by being an honorable man. Even if I could never love him, or even mourn his death, I could make him proud and live up to my mother's faith in me. I will become the man my parents wished me to be."

"B-But…" Elizabeta blinked rapidly, telling herself it was the smoke in her eyes. "You killed your father —"

Gilbert forced himself up, red eyes flashing like a demon's in the firelight. Elizabeta's heart skipped a beat. "I did  _not_! That bastard Roderich did! He poisoned my mother and poisoned my father! Because of him, my mother's first wish was twisted— twisted into me! I was supposed to be her daughter! I was supposed to be a beautiful girl that would make my parents happy, that would bring joy to my kingdom, marry some handsome, wealthy prince, and live happily fucking after! Do you know how often I heard that?" Gilbert bellowed at her, his face twisted up into a mask of pain and anger and loathing.

Elizabeta raised her hand, trying to stop him, but the gates were broken now and everything bottled up flooded forth.

"Instead, look at me!  _Look at me!_ I'm a broken shell of a man and I was a broken shell of a boy! I couldn't— I couldn't even love my own father! Do you think  _my mother wished for that?_ " Gilbert continued to rage, wrists rubbing against his bonds so fiercely his skin broke and began to bleed. "My father, though, my father loved me! He should've hated me! He should've thrown me out to the wolves, instead he loved me and believed that I could be the very man my mother's dying words said I would become! I watched him die…I watched him die and  _felt nothing_ —" He grit his teeth so hard Elizabeta could hear them squeak, making her wince involuntarily. Slowly, Gilbert gripped his hair in his rope-shackled hands and stooped over, pressed his sweaty forehead to the ground as he choked out painfully, "Maybe I am a monster… but I  _never_  killed my father. If I could have loved anyone, I would have loved him."

Silence fell, broken only by the popping of the wood in the fire. He started, his body jerking in surprise, as warm, gentle hands fell over his wrists. Those hands were worn and calloused, but soft on his. He looked up into shining eyes. Gently, she lowered his hands from his head and cradled his bloodied limbs in her palms.

"You're hurting yourself," she whispered. He glanced down again and saw the blood streaming from his wrists to stain his pants. He scoffed weakly.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm just a monster, what do you ca—"

"I was wrong," she interrupted fiercely. Blood red met those dark green eyes. She smiled softly. "You're not a monster. You're  _not_. I'm sorry I called you that." She reached out, hesitated, and then placed her hand on his head. There was memory in her soft touch on his silver hair, but it was dim and distant and her words melted it away. "You're awesome, right? The Awesome Gilbert."

He released a strangled noise, something between a laugh and a sob, and leaned forward. His forehead fell on her chest as his shoulders shook. Inside his chest, that black, beating lump of flesh cracked just the slightest bit. For the first time in his life, tears fell from his eyes. Grief filled him, grief and regret and yearning all at once until he was sobbing like a child on her tunic. He didn't even feel her arms wrap around his shoulders. When he fell asleep, sniffling quietly, Elizabeta remained kneeling next to him, one hand still on his pale hair. She glanced down at his tear-streaked, flushed face and wondered.

.

It dawned right in his eyes the next morning. An already annoying thing becoming downright painful as it seared into sore, scratchy retinas. He rubbed at his still puffy eyelids, licking at dry lips and wishing for water. He paused, forced open his groggy eyes, and lifted his arms in front of his gaze. His wrists were neatly bandaged in clean, white linen and the ropes were gone. He still had rope around his ankles, but his thick leather boots protected him there. He jumped as metal clattered behind him. Wrenching around, he saw Eli squatting by the fire, scraping soup into a tin bowl from the iron pot hanging over the coals.

"We didn't eat last night. You must be starving," Eli noted simply, getting to her feet and walking over to him.

"Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out, idiot," Gilbert grumbled, looking down at his clothes to assess their condition. Eli raised the bowl high, veins pulsing in her forehead, but reined it in and handed the bowl over with a twitchy smile. He took the bowl without thanks and slurped some down, coughing hoarsely seconds later. "What the hell is this shit?"

"YOU'RE SUCH AN ASS!" Eli screamed, swinging the lid of the pot and knocking him across the head with it. He flopped over, but kept the bowl raised high to prevent it from spilling.

"What was that for? That  _hurt_ , woman!" Gilbert snapped, sitting back up gradually and rubbing his head.

"You're a rude, insensitive brat," she replied angrily, reaching for the bowl and scowling.

Gilbert moved the bowl further away from her. "Hey, this is  _my_ breakfast. Leave off."

"You just called it disgusting!"

"It  _is_. Doesn't mean I won't eat it," he glanced away, frowning—though it kind of looked like a pout. "Thanks. For the rope… and the soup…"

Eli blinked, and then laughed, brows contracting over her nose as she fought annoyance and humor. He looked at her, confused, sipping at the 'disgusting' soup. "You are the most confusing man I've ever met."

"Eh. You got any beer?" he asked with a shrug. She propped her fists on her hips.

"What do I look like?" she demanded. He looked her up and down; took in the dirty clothes, the shadow of bruises and scabbing scratches on her face, the rough hands and well-worn leather boots, and grinned. She grinned back at him and took a leatherskin bag from her tidy pile of supplies and tossed it to him. He crowed in triumph, uncorked it, and swigged back a gulp of yeasty beer so large some of it ran down his chin.

" _That's_  some good beer. Tastes like home," he complimented, wiping his chin with the back of his bandaged wrist and handing it back. Eli tossed back a gulp almost as large and flopped down next to him.

"Maygar have much better wine, but your country  _knows_  how to brew beer. I only stock the best," she conceded, toasting him with the lift of her leatherskin.

He smirked. A companionable silence grew between them as the sun climbed higher in the sky and they passed the beer between them while tearing into a loaf of bread Eli had also handed over. He glanced at her a few times, blushing a bit when he realized she had discarded the bandages and flattened-corset she had been wearing. Without her bindings, she was a lot curvier than he first thought. Kinda suited her, though. Tough, curvy, and beer-swilling— what a woman. Then, he remembered the night before, how gentle her warrior's hands had been, and the dim memory of security her embrace had unlocked. And the grief he'd finally been able to feel. It was still there, lurking like a hand over his heart, but he could  _feel_ it. That was a kind of love right? A grief for his mother's broken wish, both of his parents' deaths, his own empty life—only a true heart that could love could regret like that, right? He touched his chest, rubbing the heel of his palm over the quiet thudding beneath his breastbone.

"Hey, Eli. What's your real name? Your girl name?" he asked suddenly, too confused to want to think anymore.

"None of your business," Eli replied nonchalantly.

"Bitch," he retorted in the same pleasant tone.

"Bastard."

That afternoon they didn't keep riding towards the capital. Instead, Eli led them back down to the plateau. Gilbert refused to question the direction. There was some forested area closer to Queen Lili's country, so Eli led them in there. She had unhobbled him, but re-tied his wrists together. He still rode in front of her, with her arms on each side and her breasts pressed against his back whenever the pace jolted, but they both ignored it; kinda. They chatted about the Magyar people and Eli's years training as a knight. They discussed beer and hunting and weapons. But they didn't discuss his kingdom, she never admitted her name or origins, and sometimes their conversations fell awkward and silent. Killing Gilbert never came up again, to the prince's relief.

"Gil, I was thinking about something—" Eli began when they had stopped for lunch.

"Shit, do I have to listen?" Gilbert moaned around his bulging-full mouth.

"Shut up, you disgusting oaf. You're sure you're royalty with manners like that? And yes, listen. You said…" she swallowed hard. "You said that 'Roderich' poisoned your parents. You couldn't mean… King Roderich, could you?"

"Oh, I could. It was definitely him. Arthur—that pissy little guardian angel that likes to interfere and grant my mother wishes, but is just an ass to me—told me. He may be annoying, but he  _is_  an angel, I guess, or something close to it. He knows these things, and my father knew it, too. On his deathbed, he as good as admitted it to me," Gilbert explained. His teeth bared like a wolf's. "I'll kill him myself. I would have already, but Arthur said there was no way to prove Roderich was behind it. He covers himself too well… like a sly fox."

Elizabeta looked away and gnawed on her thumbnail. Could she really have been so blind? She  _knew_  Roderich's flaws, she was sure of it. But this? Poisoning a young woman? Cursing an infant? Killing someone he proclaimed to be his dearest friend? For what? For power? She stopped dead, eyes widening.  _No…for love. He did it for love._  She clutched her tunic over her heart, trying not to gag.  _He told me about Basch, how dear he was, how Lili bewitched Basch and how it was her selfish desires that cursed their infant. And it was all a lie. Everything. Even his promise…_

 _Roderich never loved me. I knew it all along. He treated me like a pet. He probably enjoyed how I simpered over him_ —  _like a stupid dog. I was so entranced by how lovely he was_ _;_ _he is like a fox. But what could_ _he have possibly wanted with me if he never meant to marry me_ — _marriage…_ Elizabeta got to her feet abruptly, hands curled into fists so tight her knuckles turned white. The earth seemed to be spinning under her feet and her vision was tinted red with rage.  _He filled my head with lies to fashion me into his own personal assassin! I was meant to kill Gilbert all along! If I hadn't become a knight, he probably would have married us with the scheme that I kill Gilbert on our wedding night! I'm sure of it! Why else did he groom me into a lady? A princess of the Magyar, the people he treats like dirt._

Elizabeta swore out loud. She stomped to the nearest tree, fuming and swearing, and threw punch after punch into the bark. Gilbert stared at her from his sitting position, utterly baffled. His eyes suddenly narrowed on the grass near her feet and he scrambled to his feet to rush forward. He grabbed Eli's wrist with both of his hands— the rope tied at his wrists limited his reach without keeping his hands together— forcing her crazed punching to end. She whirled on him.

"Let go!"

"I can't do that."

"You can't seriously be thinking about trying to escape?" Eli demanded furiously. Gilbert rolled his eyes and stepped back.

"No, you idiot. Look down."

She did as he asked and her eyes widened. A tiny, yellow bird peeped pitifully and tried to crawl away on its tiny, spindly legs. Its downy-covered, feather-less wings flapped weakly. Gilbert crouched down, eying it without touching it, and sighed.

"It looks like one wing is broken. It's so young, it'll die. I'm going to have to pick it up now," Gilbert said. He slowly, gently, scooped the baby bird up in his cupped hands. He crooned to it softly, whistling and clicking to it as if trying to speak to it. It curled into a tiny, yellow ball of down on his palms, trembling like a leaf. He looked to Elizabeta, his eyes worried— a shadow of last night's grief in his blood red gaze. "He won't be able to go home now. His parents won't take back a baby that smells like human."

"H-he?" Elizabeta choked out her dry mouth. She was too stupefied to tell him that his reasoning was an urban myth. He grinned.

He grinned _._

_He grinned._

His whole face lit up with genuine joy. It was an awkward grin, the muscles of his face not quite used to the action, but he seemed completely, innocently, unconscious of it. Sunlight fell around him, lighting on his silver hair like a halo and the little yellow bird shined like a little golden star in his hands. It completely knocked the wind out of her.

"Well, yeah! Doesn't he look like a man to you? Well, a little one, but definitely a man. I'll call him Gilbird! Awesome, right?"

She watched him throw back his head and laugh, still cradling that baby bird. It was the  _oddest_  laugh she'd  _ever_  heard, as if his throat was having difficulty with the sound and the closest it could get was some guttural, hissing noise. The closest to describe it was "kesesese".

"Gilbert…Gilbert…you're…you're  _laughing_."

Gilbert broke off. His eyes widened and he made a motion with one hand to reach up to his throat, but the rope and the tiny bird stopped him. "Did I… Did I really just laugh?" he asked, an amazed, confused, wild look of joy filling his strange, red eyes. "I did! Did you hear it, Gilbird? I laughed! First I cried! And now I laughed! Maybe I'm not a monster!" And then he laughed again, a wild, maniacal sound as tears slipped from his eyes. "YOU HEAR THAT, FATHER? MOTHER? I CAN LAUGH AND CRY NOW! I AM THE AWESOME GILBERT!"

Elizabeta chuckled. "Yes, you sure are," she whispered. While he spun around and cackled like a wild man, Elizabeta walked towards Ilona, patted her neck, and then unbuckled the saddle bags. She dropped them to the ground, keeping only the pack of her clothes and her quiver and bow. She swung up into the saddle and wheeled Ilona around.

"Wait, what the hell are you doing?" Gilbert exclaimed, grabbing the girth strap with his fingertips, still careful of the injured chick. She leaned down and sliced through the ropes on his wrists, her dagger so sharp it cut the rope like butter. He flinched at the action, then his eyes widened as he watched cut rope swing lazily beneath his hands.

"My name is Elizabeta," she told him, grinning. "And you know what, Gil? I don't think you're quite so heartless as you think you are. Gee-yup, Ilona!" The mare turned and galloped off. Gilbert watched them go, still speechless and slack-jawed. From his hands, Gilbird peeped softly.

.

There was no other choice, really. Gilbert wandered back to where he remembered that hovel to be, muttering under his breath about crazy women and mood swings. He was sure his men had been following at some distance, discussing a strategy to rescue him. He had slung the saddle bags over his shoulder and made a makeshift little bed for Gilbird out of some spare linen he'd found. It didn't take long before he finished off the beer and what was left of Eli's rations.

Elizabeta.

He glanced down at Gilbird, ignoring the rush of heat on his face.

"Women make no sense," he advised Gilbird, who peeped back in agreement. "But, well, she sure did have a pretty name, right? And hair… and eyes… even if she was more like a man. She was a great swordsman. I bet I'd beat her, though. I mean, I only lost cuz she kicked me in the balls. That's low. Smart, but low," he informed Gilbird quite seriously. Gilbird's shining black eyes seemed rather sympathetic.

He glanced up at the sound of hooves. They came into sight, then, the whole lot of them; even Arthur was with them. Elizabeta's two companions were still tagging along, obviously. Feliciano was riding behind Ludwig, looking rather cheery for a prisoner and clasping the blond man around the waist without any problem. Lovino had his ankles and wrists tied together as he sat sideways on the saddle in front of Antonio. He was scowling darkly and, despite the ropes, Antonio had a tight hold around his waist to keep him from trying to jump off. The group reined up, gaping in shock as Gilbert grinned at them. The truly shocking part (other than being quite all right and quite alive) was the  _grin_. Sure, Gilbert had smirked, had frowned and scowled, and sure, they'd even seen a grin or two. Those expressions had always been grins of bloodlust, or triumph— never a smile that lit up his whole face like this one. He looked… happy. Dirty, torn-up, and bruised, but happy.

"Took you guys look enough. I have a hungry baby to feed, here," Gilbert joked, motioning towards the chick nesting in the saddle bag.

Francis, Kiku, Herakles, Alfred, and Matthew all dismounted and rushed forward, giving whoops, hollers, and cries of joy while Antonio cheered them on. Even Feliciano cheered happily, though in a foolish manner that denoted he was just enjoying all the celebrations. Arthur and Ludwig looked rather weary, but waited patiently for the unruliness to calm down. When the chick had been fed (courtesy of Arthur), and the two prisoners set down on the ground, the knights readied themselves for Gilbert's explanation. Lovino (still trussed up and scowling next to Antonio) looked particularly impatient. Feliciano snuggled down next to Ludwig, very much to the blond's discomfort. He somehow got the little knight attached to him and he was utterly baffled by it.

Gilbert told them most of what happened, leaving out the sob story (literally). When he told them how Elizabeta had left, the two brothers glanced at each other, anxiety etched on their features.

"She told you… her name? And just left?" Lovino clarified, brows lowering.

"Yeah, just like that. Maybe she thought she owed me one, for saving her on the cliff?" Gilbert reasoned, petting Gilbird's sleeping head absently. Lovino scoffed. "Only thing I could think of."

"No, Elizabeta  _always_  finishes the job. She's never been asked to kill anyone, but we've done plenty of jobs for his Majesty. She's too in love with him  _not_  to complete her mission. So why…" Feliciano trailed off, then cried aloud as Lovino punched his head. Everyone blinked and stared as Lovino got up and dusted off the ropes he'd untied.

" _Ay Dios mio,_ how'd you do that  _again_?" Antonio cried in dismay.

"You stopped paying attention long enough," Lovino tossed back carelessly. He met Gilbert's eyes. "We have to go back to your castle."

"Pardon? King Roderich is bound to have hundreds of soldiers, not to mention countless mercenaries, on the lookout for Gilbert. He may have trust in your Elizabeta, but he wouldn't take chances that Gilbert might evade her!" Francis pointed out.

"Elizabeta let him live for a reason! It means she thinks Roderich is wrong and she's going to outright defy him, or attempt to trick him! No matter what, she's going to put her life in danger! I don't even care about why right now! I care about catching up to her and protecting her! She's our  _princess!_ " Lovino snapped.

"Princess?" Matthew whispered.

"Why is a princess also a mercenary?" Kiku muttered to Herakles. Herakles shrugged.

"She's the princess of Magyar. She was taken hostage as a girl by Roderich to ensure her parents' good behavior. He twisted her brain about so she's convinced he's some sort of angel— no pun intended, you eyebrow bastard— but Feliciano and I were charged by her parents to protect her. Let us go! You're clearly not in danger from us if our princess no longer hunts you!" Lovino pointed out, trying not to sound like he was begging.

"You will not go alone," Antonio said. He got to his feet and laid his hand on Lovino's shoulder. "Your princess is choosing our king and putting her life in danger because of it. Now, you are one of us. We fight for our king, like your princess does," Antonio told Lovino gently, his green eyes warm. Lovino sputtered, flushing brightly. Feliciano jumped up and clapped.

"Oh, good! I like Antonio! He's very strong, ve~ Three are better than two, Lovi~" Feliciano all but sang with happiness. Ludwig got to his feet and cleared his throat.

"I will go, too. Your horses are long gone, you'll need a ride," Ludwig pointed out. Feliciano squealed with glee and threw himself at Ludwig in what looked like a very painful hug.

"Hey, if Ludwig the tight-ass is going, I'm totally goin', too. I was gettin' bored just wanderin' 'round the forest anyway," Alfred said, grinning merrily. Matthew stood up, sighing.

"I cannot let my brother go without me."

"I will go. I need to feed the castle cats, too. I bet Roderich hasn't thought about them," Herakles added. Kiku slapped his own face, sighed, and got to his feet with Herakles.

"Cats. I do like cats, but you are something else, Sir Herakles. We are going to rescue a princess, not feed cats. Besides,  _servants_  feed cats."

"We can do both, Kiku," Herakles assured him easily. "And servants never give enough milk."

Francis and Gilbert glanced at each other. They both stood as well. "We're all together, just like Antonio said. It doesn't seem like I need to remind anyone of that, when we all want the same thing. As always,  _oui_?" Francis joked.

"Elizabeta owes me another contest. She can't go get killed off before fighting me again," Gilbert added. He lifted his unsheathed sword high. "For honor!"

"For honor!" The men shouted back, raising their arms as well. Lovino and Feliciano glanced at each other.

"For Princess Elizabeta!"

"For Princess Elizabeta!" The Magyar brothers joined in, though Lovino looked unimpressed.

"And… for my father and mother," Gilbert murmured.

"Long live the King and Queen!" The men shouted. "Long live King Gilbert!"

"I like that! Let's get going!" Gilbert laughed, shocking his men more.

Arthur stepped up, arms crossed over his chest. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Nah. You can't fight with us, right?" Gilbert replied, eyebrow rising.

"That's not what I meant." He put his hand to his hip and, from nowhere, drew forth a sword. Its blade gleamed dully— a blade well-used, though a little battered now. "You should return this."

Gilbert instantly recognized it without Lovino and Feliciano's gasps. "Elizabeta's sword. Yeah… thanks." Gilbert wrapped it in his discarded cloak and tucked it into the saddlebags.

"Gilbert, you're not too far away. Surely you realize it?" Arthur continued, bushy brows raising high.

"Realize what?" Gilbert retorted. Arthur sighed, rubbing his temple.

"You really are stupid. Good luck, King Gilbert," with that said, Arthur bowed and vanished.

"Hey! Why'd he go? He coulda come along, jeez," Alfred muttered, looking a little disappointed.

"Mount up!"

.

Elizabeta had already made it to the castle— Gilbert's castle to be precise. It wasn't the beautiful elegant building like Roderich's home. This was a fortress made of grey stone, built into the very mountains and guarded by a wide, deep moat. She actually liked it better. It suited Gilbert perfectly. She grinned at the thought, and then sighed. She would miss fighting with him. However, she doubted she'd ever see him again, even if this worked. She glanced down at the wooden box in her hands, willing their shaking to cease. Shaking was a dead giveaway. Two guards let her enter, and she waited only moments in a large audience chamber. A large portrait of the royal family hung from the wall, framed in elegantly carved wood. The late Queen was a simple, pretty girl with a soft smile and slender arms that clasped her baby close to her chest. The King stood beside her chair, his hand resting on her shoulder, looking intimating, but protective, like a father and king  _should_  be. It made her chest ache knowing Gilbert had missed something beautiful because of Roderich's petty jealousy. Two guards, dressed in Roderich's livery, entered then. She was led immediately to Roderich's new chambers and left outside the door. So far, the castle had been completely silent. All the courtiers seemed to have fled, or had stayed hidden away in some other rooms. The keep was still a grand, beautiful place, but the austerity was so much harsher thanks to the eerie silence. Only a few guards, all in Roderich's livery and familiar faces, were left patrolling the hallways. Two such guards were also standing on each side of her, ignoring her as they were trained to do. Mouth dry, she stared at the door, thankful she finally got those desperate shivers under control. She took a deep, slow breath before she opened the door.

She stopped dead, eyes widening in horror. Roderich had chosen Basch's rooms as his own. Though she'd never seen them before, she was sure of it. For none other than the late King was laid out on the couch, a thin, gauzy shroud over his still body. Shocked green eyes looked up, meeting Roderich's violet gaze. He sat calmly by the enshrouded king, sipping tea. He set down the cup in its saucer and stood, spectacles gleaming in the afternoon light. It took all her willpower not to move back.

"Come, Eli, meet my dearest friend, Basch."

"Milord… milord it's been three days. Should he not have been entombed—"

"SILENCE! Do you dare question  _me_? The man that  _made_ you? Your king? Remember your place, Maygar," Roderich spat, eyes flashing madly. Eli bowed quickly to hide her expression. Surely… surely he had never been this crazed, this  _sinister_  before? Or had she only been blinded by his elegance and beauty? In that moment, she hated herself more than she had ever hated him. He must have calmed himself, because moments later he spoke, "You may come here, Eli."

For some reason, her knight name, the one that was neither male nor female, irked her. She slowly approached, the box clutched in her white knuckled hand. She stopped at the couch and stared at her boots, biting down on her lip to keep the welling tears at bay when she saw the pale, wasted hand of the late king. Morbidly, she was drawn to look up, to see if it could possibly be real.  _Poor man. Please, let Gilbert never see this_ , she mentally pleaded as she gazed at the waxy, pale face of the dead king.

"He is beautiful, isn't he? Such a strong, stubborn man. There is no man like him."

"Not even his son?" Elizabeta couldn't help but quip, her voice bitter. Roderich rounded on her, but barely managed to keep himself in check. Her face was carefully blank by then.

"Ah, yes. Your mission. Why don't you tell me, Sir Eli? Is Gilbert like this man? In looks or comportment? Is he truly a kingly man?" Roderich asked.

Elizabeta's lips twitched. "He was annoying, unpredictable, and foul-mouthed. I bested him with a sword easily, but he didn't like to lose. He looks nothing like King Basch. He was as pale, but his hair was wild and his eyes like a demon's. They truly are blood red."

Roderich nodded. "As I thought."

"But he was an honorable man. Despite all appearances, he was truly a knight. He was…" she grinned, "awesome."

Roderich stared at her. "Sir Eli… you haven't come to tell me you've been bewitched? Like mother like son, it appears. One bewitches a king and the other a princess, both those I've trusted above all! You haven't betrayed me, have you?" Roderich demanded, grabbing unto her shoulders and forcing her around to face him. His violet eyes were wild, pupils dilated as he bored his gaze into hers. She felt her blood run cold.

"N-No! Of course not! There is no one I love more than you! I've longed to marry you from the moment I met you! Please, milord, my king, take Prince Gilbert's heart!" she exclaimed quickly, dropping to her knees and holding the box above her head. Roderich panted heavily, and she thought maybe he hadn't understood her. Then he smoothed his hair, his breath slowing to a more gentlemanly pace.

"I am pleased to hear that, Sir Eli. You will get your wish. I never should have doubted your loyalty," he said, laying his hand on Elizabeta's hair. She repressed a shudder. That moment in the firelight, her hand on silver hair, was tainted by Roderich's unintentional mockery now.

Roderich took the box moments later, and opened it, smirking slightly seeing the bloody heart lying there. "How strange. It isn't black. It must have been just metaphorically ebony," he chuckled, deepening Elizabeta's disgust.

"If you don't mind, your Majesty, I was hoping I could bathe and change before dinner?" Elizabeta requested as politely as possible.

"Oh, yes. But first, let us show The Mirror."

Elizabeta frowned in confusion, but got to her feet to follow him when he beckoned. He led her towards a large wardrobe. He casually flung it open to reveal the eerily gleaming mirror hidden there. Elizabeta shivered, rubbing her arms, as wisps of fog curled out from the silver glass.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, please help me, fairest of them all," Roderich called.

Elizabeta glanced sharply at him, bewildered. At his intent gaze, she looked back to the mirror, frowning. With a small scream, Elizabeta stumbled backwards, staring, aghast, at the blond man now reflected on the mirror's surface.

"Like, how rude," Feliks pouted, pausing in the middle of painting his toenails bright pink. He blew on them and winked at Elizabeta. "Don't worry, honey, I'm totally stayin' right here. I won't come out and, like, eat you."

Elizabeta only gaped at him.

"Feliks, ignore the girl. I wanted to show you this—"

"OMIGAWSH, EW! WHAT IS THAT!? PUT IT AWAY! LIKE, GROSS!" Feliks shrieked, falling backwards out of sight, only his bright pink toes waving where they could see them.

"I told you I had ordered Sir Eli to cut out his heart," Roderich patiently reminded him, his tone irritated.

"Yeah, but, like, that doesn't, like, mean I wanna see it! Gawd! Totally gross," Feliks grumbled, pulling himself back up into a sitting position. He kept his face covered with his hands, though, revealing his perfectly manicured fingernails (pink, as well, with little blue flowers on his index fingers and rainbows on the others). "Tch. Roddy, you totally ruined my pedicure! Look at that!" Feliks exclaimed, waving his foot at the mirror.

"Never mind that! Just tell me the kingdom is now truly mine!" Roderich screamed.

"What? Like, why would I do that?" Feliks asked, peeking from around his fingers.

" _Because the plan was to kill Gilbert and own these three kingdoms. You said if I killed Gilbert the kingdoms would be mine_ ," Roderich seethed. Feliks blinked.

"Oh, wait, like, is that supposed to be Gilbert's heart? You're, like, totally jokin' right?"

Elizabeta's eyes widened in shock.  _Could that thing know_ —?

"That's a pig heart, dude. Like, that's not a king of anything."

Roderich froze and Elizabeta's gaze fastened on his back. In her mind was a litany of cuss words. Slowly, Roderich turned around, the box in his hand.

"A pig's heart, Elizabeta?" Roderich hissed coldly. Elizabeta's stomach contracted. She flinched as he threw the box at the wall. The box shattered and the heart inside squelched before sliding down the stone wall, a bloody trail behind it as it slouched on the floor.

"Dude! That's, like, totally gross! Does stone stain? Do you need some Shazam or something? Hey, hey, you're not going to kill that chick, right? Roddy?"

"Go AWAY, Feliks," Roderich snapped. Feliks paled.

"You are. Oh my gawd. I'm so sorry gender-bender chick. Roddy, don't kill her! She didn't want to murder someone! That's, like, a good thing! Stop it, Roddy!" Feliks screamed, horrified at what his words had started. With a loud cry, Roderich grabbed the mirror and sent it hurtling to the ground. Glass shattered and flew in every direction as Feliks's last scream echoed throughout the room.

Elizabeta scrambled back, ignoring the slices on her hands from the glass as Roderich advanced on her. He reached down and gripped her hair in his fist, pulling her up forcibly. She had no choice but to rise, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out in pain. He brought her up level with his face and she felt his breath on her cheek.

"You are a lying whore. You're not even a real woman, not a man, you're nothing. I never would have married a mongrel like you," he hissed in her ear. Her knees trembled, but she gulped in air, snapping open her eyes to glare at him.

"I know that, you bastard. Why do you think I let Gilbert live? You may have cursed him as a baby to have a black heart, but you have nothing but an empty hole! You're the monster, not Gilbert! I hope he stabs you through the stomach and that you die in agony!" she screamed, trying not to cry. She would be strong now, at the end, as all those foolish, girlish dreams died.

 _I'm glad I found out before now what a monster he is. I'm glad I met you, Gilbert,_  she thought, squeezing her eyes shut as Roderich lifted his hand.

"Your Majesty!" cried out voices from the corridor. Elizabeta dropped to the ground, gasping in shock as the door flung open. "Your…Majesty?" a man stammered, a man whose accent was vaguely Magyar in cadence. She smiled.  _Good, let them see. Maybe the Magyar will rise with Gilbert when the rumors of this travel abroad._

"What do you want, you common fool?" Roderich barked. The men, all Magyar except for one, drew up in offense. Magyar, if nothing else, were still prideful people.

"The knights of Beilschmidt-Zwing—"

"Do not use that name! Do not address that monstrosity with  _his_  name!" Roderich interrupted shrilly. Elizabeta turned her head, staring up at Roderich's blotchy, crazed face in amusement.  _He's cracking._

"I'm…sorry…your Majesty. The exiled prince is here with his knights. What should we do?"

Roderich paced, his boots crunching over glass. As he muttered to himself, Elizabeta looked up and caught a guard's eye. He nodded to her imperceptibly and she grinned weakly back. 'Protect King Gilbert' she mouthed slowly. The man's eyes widened, then he nodded once more. Roderich turned to them.

"They will head to the chapel, most likely. Move all the soldiers and guards to the opposite side the courtyard, but make sure to keep an eye on the intruders. If they enter the inner castle, try to separate them and lead the prince up to these rooms.  _Only the prince_ , mind you. And take this garbage with you. Confine her to the dungeons until I can punish her accordingly," Roderich added, savagely kicking Elizabeta in the ribs. She gasped, spittle falling to her lips as something cracked  _in her_.

The guards nodded and the Magyar guard whom had caught Elizabeta's eyes came forward. He picked her up and dragged her none-too-gently from the room. The door slammed behind him.

"Are you sure, milady?" the guard whispered, his hold gentling immediately. Elizabeta frowned grimly.

"Long live the King," she whispered fiercely. "I will fight alongside the true King."

.

Roderich paced the room again, running his hand through his hair as he desperately pondered what to do. His eyes lit up and he smiled, the smile slowly growing until laughter spilled from him

" _Of course!_  Oh, yes, that would be perfect! Feliks— oh… well, that's a minor setback," Roderich commented, looking down at the shattered glass. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the slight beading of sweat from his brow before ringing for the maid.

.

Gilbert and his knights rushed into the castle before reining up sharply. For some reason the drawbridge had been lowered and no guards were posted on duty. They urged their horses forward, the hooves striking the cobbles of the courtyard and the sound ringing eerily. As one, they exchanged glances and dismounted. Ludwig was quick to grab Feliciano before the man tripped over himself mid-air (Gilbert saw it happen when Feliciano had tried to saddle up—which was…oddly hilarious…). Lovino jumped down, elbowing Antonio's face in the process, and walked over to Gilbert.

"Where would Roderich be?" he demanded of Gilbert. Gilbert gaped at him.

"I dunno? I've never met him!"

"He'll be with King Basch, won't he?" Feliciano piped up from within the circle of Ludwig's arms. They all turned to stare at him and he wilted into Ludwig's embrace, embarrassed. "Well, um… he loves the King, God rest him, right? So, wouldn't he be with him?"

"But… King Basch is… dead…" Kiku said gently.

"So, the chapel?" Matthew suggested.

"Or in his rooms. He'd want to be where Basch's presence was strongest since the King is most likely interred by now," Francis pointed out.

"We should split up then? Half to the chapel, half to the King's chambers?" Herakles suggested.

"Yeah, let's get going, c'mon!" Alfred exclaimed, rushing towards the chapel. Matthew rolled his eyes and followed.

"I'll go with Alfred and make sure he doesn't destroy the place," Ludwig volunteered. He grunted as Feliciano latched onto his arm.

"I'll go with Luddy!"

"I'll go with them as well," Kiku said. The three raced off, leaving Herakles and Lovino frowning.

"Let's go," Gilbert ordered gruffly. The last place he wanted to go was his father's rooms, but he raced there anyway.

As they ran through the rooms, it seemed to become even more silent and empty. They frequently exchanged worried glances. Gone were the hundreds of servants, the armored guards, and dozens of courtiers. It was as if the entire castle had become a silent tomb. They skidded to a halt as footsteps sounded from down the corridor. A man appeared— a guard Gilbert had never seen before. This guard saw Lovino and they both let out cries of recognition.

"The princess?" Lovino demanded as they ran towards one another and clasped elbows.

"She's in the dungeons. We only put her there to keep her out of his way while we patched her up. What should we do?" the guard queried anxiously, backing away.

"Patched up? What's wrong with her?" Gilbert exclaimed, his brow lows and red eyes flaming.

"N-Nothing much. A rib or two might be broken. That…usurper would have killed her, but you came in time, your Majesty," the guard replied, bowing. He looked to Lovino. "I must return to her. She won't stay down long."

"I'll come with you. Did she say anything?" Lovino asked quickly. The guard glanced again to Gilbert and bowed slightly.

"She said 'Long live the King.' She told us to follow only the true King. I took that to mean you, your Majesty," the guard informed Gilbert. He grinned back wolfishly.

"Tell Elizabeta I'll come after her for that rematch. She's…she's gonna all right?" Gilbert inquired, frowning slightly. The guard smirked.

"She's swearing like a sailor and sending us all to hell for not letting her get off the table. So yes, your Majesty, she's thriving."

Gilbert cackled. "All right, Lovino and Antonio, go with them."

"What the fuck! You aren't the boss of me! I don't want to be with that irritatingly cheerful bastard anymore!"

"Lovi, that hurts!"

"Stop. Calling. Me. Lovi! CHIGI!" Lovino ground out, punching Antonio in the solar plexus as hard as possible. Antonio slumped over, gasping.

"Stop flirting and get down to the dungeons!" Gilbert snapped. The guard led the two away as Antonio whined at Lovino.

"Your Majesty, continue on to the rooms?" Francis prompted.

"I guess we shoulda asked, huh? I forgot," Gilbert mumbled. But he motioned them up and they continued on— until a loud crash and boom filled the entire castle, making even those sturdy stone floors shake. "THE HELL WAS THAT?"

"It sounded like dynamite. It's like gunpowder—"

"Damn it, Herakles, I don't need to know WHAT it is! I want to know where it's coming from! And why!" Gilbert interrupted shortly.

"It came from… it came from the direction of the chapel,  _mon ami_ ," Francis murmured, blue eyes widening in shock. Herakles took off running without a word. Francis glanced after Herakles, but looked back to Gilbert.

"Go, Francis. Alfred must've set off something. Or pissed  _someone_  off. Go and settle things down. I think I can handle one loony man. I mean, it's not like he can shove poison down my throat, right?"

" _Oui_. I will come to you as soon as possible. God be with you, Gilbert," Francis murmured.

"Oh, hey, wait. Francis, make sure to check on the horses and Gilbird, okay? I'm worried about him."

"Of course, my liege," Francis replied, smiling.

Gilbert watched him race away for a moment, before racing onward himself. He made it to his father's old rooms in record time. They had been connected to his mother's by a common sitting room, and it was into here he ran, since the last thing he wanted was to enter the rooms where Basch had died. Gilbert burst into the room, gasping and panting and flushed. And what he saw made his heart stop. His sword fell with a clatter as he stumbled into the room.

At the window, the same window where she made that fatal wish, sat a petite blonde woman with luminescent green eyes. She wore a simple muslin dress of soft purple that rustled when she turned towards the door. A small, gentle smile curved her pretty lips. Gilbert staggered towards her, gaping in amazement, as she set down the embroidery hoop and raised a slender, pale hand.

"My dear boy, my dear, beautiful son. You're home," Queen Lili whispered.

Gilbert fell to his knees, staring up at her. She laid her hand on his hair, smiling so sweetly, and his eyes fell closed. That hand on his hair felt so familiar… it brought to mind the night and firelight and crying. But that didn't matter now. This must be the first memory. His mother's gentle touch. His mother's gentle, protective love.

"Mother," Gilbert breathed, inhaling the warm, sweet scent of her.

"Yes, dear one. Now, why are you so out of sorts and wild? Come sit with me and rest yourself," Queen Lili invited, her voice still gentle but also slightly chiding.

"But…I have to…find someone…" Gilbert struggled to remember. Queen Lili tutted.

"Don't be silly. You need your rest."

"But…it's important. I have to find him. I think…Or was it a girl? I think she's in danger…" Gilbert scowled as he tried in vain to recall his previous mission.

"She? Who could possibly be so important? Remember, dear, you don't have a heart," Queen Lili reminded him as she stroked his hair. Gilbert opened his eyes, frowning slightly.

"Mother…?"

"Dear, you're obviously overset and weary. Sit down, rest. Oh, of course. You must be hungry! All that physical exertion must have made your head quite light. Here, dear, I have some fruit." She reached down next to Gilbert's knee and his frown darkened further. He was sure nothing had sat there just moments ago. She plucked a bright, gleaming, blood-red apple from the basket filled with grapes, oranges, apples, and plums, and handed it to him.

He took it, staring at it curiously. It seemed to shine— no, almost vibrate with color. He glanced up at her again, into her strangely intent smile.

"Go ahead, Gilbert," she urged. She pressed a finger to her lips. "I forgot to tell you the secret, didn't I?"

"Secret?"

"It's a special apple, my love. It is a magic apple. It makes all your dreams come true. Take just one bite and anything is possible, my dear," Queen Lili explained.

"Really? That seems kinda stupid…" Gilbert muttered, frowning at it. Queen Lili laughed, a strange sound at once delightful and sharp.

"I am on first-name basis with a magical angelic being, darling," Queen Lili pointed out.

"So, it's a wishing apple. Any wish I want?" He looked up to see her nod. "Even for a heart?"

"A heart, dear?" Queen Lili repeated, shocked.

"Yeah, a real, whole heart."

"But why? Why wish for that?"

"So I can love…" Gilbert whispered.  _So I can love Elizabeta_ , he finished mentally, fervently. That person he had almost forgotten. He remembered her grinning, scratched and dirty face for one blissful moment, then, he took a bite. He felt the rush of sweet juice and the crunch of firm flesh between his teeth. Then, he choked. His fingers clenched around the apple as his free hand wrapped around his throat. He glanced up to Queen Lili, confused, beseeching for help as he struggled for air. She only stared at him coldly, her mouth curled in distaste.

"Who needs a heart when they're dead, you filthy brat?" Lili spat, her voice quite unlike the sweet, motherly one she had before.

_Damn, I'm fucking stupid…_

And the world went black.

.

Roderich, in the guise of Lili, stood over Gilbert's crumpled body, a triumph smirk on his face. All it took to deceive that simple brained prince was a simple potion he'd long ago prepared and a piece of whoever he wished to become. It was a good thing he had planned for anything and collected not only Lili's hair, but Basch's as well. Now he only needed to take the remainder of the potion that had his own hair in it and he would be able to shed this disgusting façade. He made to move away, but the tip of his boot touched a shard of silver mirror. He stopped, suddenly locked in place.

"You will not, like, get away with this. What you've done is  _wrong_  and I, like, totally refuse to help you  _anymore!_ " Feliks cried, his voice unearthly and echoing, as if from a long distance away.

In horror, Roderich watched as his skin began to bubble and wrinkle, dark spots growing over his skin. His limbs twisted, his spine crooking and bending, his long blonde hair becoming thin, wispy, and white. The spell on him unlocked suddenly, without warning, and he stumbled backwards, his old, weak limbs shaking uncontrollably. The door burst open again, almost every knight filling the doorway. They were covered in grit and dust, but none worse for wear. The booby trap in the chapel he'd had his guards create days ago had obviously worked, but not done its job properly, since none had died like he had planned. He flinched against the window seat, bringing up his arms to shield his age-battered face.

"Who's the old broad?" Alfred asked stupidly. With a flash, Arthur appeared, frowning fiercely. He wore the same strange white tunic he had first worn in front of Lili, his wings fluttering and his wand shining like fire in his hand.

"Someone who abused a power he never was supposed to use. Even your most faithful have turned against you," Arthur intoned to Roderich, green eyes flashing dangerously. He stepped forward, his whole body glowing. Roderich stumbled back, his voice a wordless croak of protest. "Be gone, sorcerer," Arthur whispered.

Roderich backed up, eyes wide and horrified. The old, withering body he was now trapped within glowed bright gold and he vanished, banished into the far reaches of the country, without any magic or potion to aid him. He would die a slow death of old age, trapped in the body of the woman he hated most.

With that, Arthur turned to the knights. "I'm done here. It's up to you to protect him now," Arthur said, a sad smile on his face.

Francis was already at Gilbert's side on his knees, a hand hovering over Gilberts lips. He released a small gasp before placing his shaking fingertips to Gilbert's throat. He looked up, blue-eyes haggard. Every man in the room could read from his blanched, anguished features just what Francis was about to say.

"His Majesty…his Majesty does not breathe," Francis whispered. Kiku's shoulders became rigid, eyes wide. Herakles' green eyes lost their sleepy gaze as surprise filled him. Alfred and Matthew both fell back as Ludwig stepped forward, his blank face slowly darkening with rage. The tall, broad-shouldered blond whirled on Arthur, blue eyes piercing the angelic man.

"Protect him? PROTECT HIM? HOW?" Ludwig roared as tears began to stream down Feliciano and Matthew's faces. He threw his hand towards Gilbert's prone form. "HE'S DEAD!" He looked away abruptly, gritting his teeth painfully to hold back his own tears.

Francis got to his feet and touched Ludwig's shoulder. He turned to Arthur. "We will do what we can…but maybe you could help us?"

"However I may," Arthur agreed with a slight nod. His shoulders were slumped and his green eyes were weary, but there was something…lacking, some grief not present that captured Francis' attention. For a moment, Francis let himself feel hope, but then he turned to Gilbert's body on the floor and the hope dimmed.

Alfred stepped forward, knelt by Gilbert and lifted him up into his arms. The apple in the would-be-king's hand fell to the ground, bounced slightly, and dissolved. Slowly, with heads bowed, the group followed the silently weeping Alfred from the room.

The chapel was destroyed by Roderich's elaborate booby trap, put up in the hopes that Gilbert would go there first to see his father's body laid out. However, there was enough of the ornate annex left to set Gilbert to rest. The dias' steps were crumbled and Alfred barely made it up the steps without falling. With a wave of Arthur's wand, a golden casket appeared near where the altar used to stand. The casket had a thick cushion laid on top, covered in fresh, snowy white linen. Alfred laid Gilbert's body gently down and Francis helped straighten Gilbert's limbs so it looked as though he slept. Kiku walked forward, holding in his hands King Basch's crown that he'd found among the rubble. The small man's dark brown eyes glittered with unshed tears as he placed the golden ornament over Gilbert's hair. Herakles brushed hair from Gilbert's face, straightened his collar, and backed away, wrapping an arm around Kiku's trembling shoulders. Feliciano murmured something to Arthur. A moment later, Feliciano walked forward with a bouquet of white and prussian blue flowers clasped in his hands that matched Gilbert's livery of choice. He and Matthew wrapped Gilbert's hands around the flower stems and they stepped away. Another wave of Arthur's wand created glass, a shining crystal dome of glass, over Gilbert's reposed figure. Alfred burst into loud, wailing sobs and flung himself onto Arthur, who happened to be nearest. Arthur staggered under Alfred's weight, eyes wide in shock, before lifting a hand and patting Alfred's back awkwardly.

From the doorway, Antonio and Lovino entered, holding Elizabeta up between them. Behind them was the entire contingent of Magyar guards; the few guards of Roderich's race having been subdued and incarcerated until they could figure out what to do with them. The first three halted in the doorway, eyes widening in surprise.

"No, no…Gilbert… _mi amigo_ , no!" Antonio gasped in horror.

Elizabeta pushed herself out of their arms, running forward with Antonio, one arm automatically wrapping tightly around her bandaged torso, but otherwise ignoring the pain. Lovino followed just behind, scowling and trying not to look like he cared. He stayed back when they made it to the group, but Antonio reached over and yanked him forward. Lovino sighed in annoyance as Antonio wrung his hand painfully, but he let Antonio continue without saying anything once he glanced at Antonio's distraught face. Elizabeta didn't stop and forced herself through the men, pushing them aside without caring. She drew up short after seeing the gold and glass casket, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

"Gilbert. Oh, Gilbert, you idiot. How can we have our rematch now?" Elizabeta choked out, half-laughing as she stumbled forward. She fell onto the glass, fingertips pressed to the cool surface. She choked back another sob and smiled, lips quivering. "You're not serious, right? You're going to get up and shout "fooled ya", right? You can't be dead, Gilbert! I promised…I promised to serve your cause. I promised to fight for you!" She whirled around, swiping at her eyes with her arm. "TAKE IT OFF!" she bellowed.

Everyone jumped.

"Excuse me,  _mademoiselle_?" Francis asked, utterly baffled.

"The glass! Take it off him!"

"I will, so calm down!" Arthur exclaimed, voice muffled under Alfred's shoulder. His wand waved feebly and the glass disappeared. "You, sir, are the size and weight of a bear. Geroff!" he snapped at Alfred, who only squeezed Arthur tighter as he sniffled.

Elizabeta ignored the angel and turned back to Gilbert. Fingers reached to touch his face. So pale, yet…his skin was still so warm. As if he still lived. And in her mind, she remembered those brief hours together. Fighting, yelling, cussing, sobbing, and that awkward, hissing sort of cackle when he held that silly little bird. She leaned over, hesitated, then gently touched her lips to his. She lifted herself up just slightly, tears forming on her lashes, threatening to fall.

"You're too awesome to be dead, you idiot. Wake up! Please, Gil, wake up," Elizabeta demanded, shaking his shoulder.

A chunk of apple fell from his mouth to the snowy linen by his head. Her eyes widened as the white and red flesh hissed and dissolved, creating a black, jagged hole in the linen. A loud, sharp inhale caught her attention and her eyes darted back to Gilbert's face.

Slowly, he woke up, blood red eyes confused and unfocused. There was a foul taste in his mouth, but it was quickly disappearing to his relief. In front of him was only blurs, indistinct colors and shapes that gradually re-focused into pinpoint clarity. Elizabeta hovered over him, gleaming green eyes wide, startled, and utterly beautiful. So beautiful, with that cascade of mutely shining brown hair falling all around her face and scabbing scratches on her cheeks and chin, with her red nose and bloodshot eyes glittering oddly. He grinned a little and reached out to wrap a thick handful of her hair around his fist.

"I guess the wishing apple worked," he murmured.

"What? What you are you talking about, you bastard!" Elizabeta exclaimed, laughing and crying.

"Don't cry all over me, woman! I just meant, well, I wished I could have a heart… for you…" he muttered, looking away and blushing. He winced as she punched his shoulder. "What was that for!?" he yelped, glaring at her.

"For scaring the piss outta me! I love you, too, dumb ass!" she snapped at him. He stared at her, an amazed, completely bewildered smile on his face.

"You do? Really? You're sure? Cuz you really like to mess with my head—"

"Oh, shut up and give me a real kiss, you annoying shit," Elizabeta ordered, throwing herself over him.

His eyes widened, but he wrapped his free arm around her waist and kissed her back with everything he had. It felt nice, feeling… happy.

He hoped he would always feel like this.

.

Elizabeta and Gilbert were married, joining together the three kingdoms Roderich sought to control— only with love, rather than with revenge. Though, they never were sappy and ridiculous like other love stories. They half-killed each other every other day and had  _way too many babies._ Gilbird lived to a ripe old age, constantly riding on Gilbert's head or shoulder and trilling in a suitably annoying fashion for an… _awesome_  pet of Gilbert's.

Elizabeta won their rematches 87 outta 93 times. She only kicked him in the balls a few times. Really.

And they lived…

HAPPILY EVER AFTER


	10. Swan and Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fairy tale is one I called The Swan and the Wolf. Sadly, I totally made it up. I thought it was an old fairy tale, but apparently once upon a time, Kitty read the summary of a movie called "Ladyhawke" and, as she grew old and stoopid, confused it in her memories for a fairy tale (even though I've never actually seen the movie). So, this is somewhat influenced by "Ladyhawke", a movie with Matthew Broderick in it (all other actors are unimportant. I love Matthew Broderick. Well. Michelle Pfieffer is pretty cool, too). But I totally mixed up the plot in my memories so it's rather my own at the same time. I tidied it up to have an actual motivation, since there won't be any jealous Bishop in this. Lol

The Touch that Binds Us

It was cold, even colder than  _he_  was accustomed. Snow was beginning to fall, like the softest bird's down, all around him. In every direction he looked there were tall trees, with their evergreen branches already frosted with glistening ice, sparsely scattered over uneven, bare dirt patched with grubby snow. His breath steamed into the air as the sunset sunk closer to the horizon. His wings were heavy, his white feathers weighed down with the snow. He had to stop soon. His strength was flagging rapidly and it was getting harder and harder to fly — a feat already awkward with his large, cumbersome body.

Whoever said swans were elegant creatures obviously had never been one.

The swan dipped, a surge of fear filling him at the immense effort it took to right himself and keep from plummeting to his death. He would fly lower so a fall would not mean his death, but the lower he soared, the less air currents there would be to help him glide and save his already depleting energy.

There. At last. Relief coursed through the swan, making his wings seem lighter. A cave had caught his eye — a burrow really. He glided down to the ground, his webbed feet touching snow so cold it burned his black skin. He shifted as pain filtered through his limbs, deep into the bones and sinews of him. He spread his wings wide as the rays of sunlight fell over his feathers. The swan's blinding white wings became the molten colors of the sunset; gold, orange, indigo, crimson, all blending and shining until any eyes in his direction would have been blinded. Finally, a tall, gaunt man stood on the snow amidst the barren trees and silence and dying sunlight. His copper-toed black boots were battered, with a hole at the toes on one where the copper had fallen off, and both the heels worn flat. His clothes were barely recognizable as the fine garments they'd once been; the white had long become a grungy grey color, the scarlet embroidery and hems faded to faint pink, the gold braid on the trousers torn away. His face was long and weary, his large, slightly hooked nose prominent on features that suggested a once heavier frame. He looked like a man who had once been large, broad, and imposing, but hunger and whatever burden he carried behind his strangely violet eyes had collapsed his body in on itself. He walked with a limp, his shoulders hunched, and his head low.

His Imperial Majesty Ivan. The once King Ivan of Wunterlin. The most feared man in the world was now reduced to a half-savage man-swan in the middle of his own frozen wasteland.

 _When your heart is no longer ice, your land will shine again_ —

Ivan shook his head and knelt down by the little burrow's entrance. Now a man, it would be more difficult to fit himself into this hiding place, but he had lost enough weight these past months that he could fit if he wriggled a bit. Pushing aside the remembrance of his more muscular and stouter days when he never would have fit in this entrance, he went to collect wood. It wouldn't be smart to crawl into a small underground burrow and be met, in the dark, with an angry badger or some such. Ivan gathered quite a bit and stuffed it in his coat, which wasn't terribly comfortable. After a few minutes of quiet cursing as the skies became darker and darker, he finally managed to strike a spark with his flint and stone and a small fire was created on a pile of stripped bark. Ivan ground the tiny fire into the dirt after making a small torch to carry before him into the burrow. Ivan knelt again by the entrance before getting on his elbows. He shimmied into the large hole, the torch held awkwardly in front of him and damp branches digging into his chest and ribs. It seemed to be something of a large foxhole. Old, dry bones of small rodents and birds littered the short tunnel. It also looked like there was fresh blood in the tunnel. He paused, touching his cold fingertips to the dark streak on the soil. It was warm and slightly damp. Sure it enough, the iron tang of blood filled his nostrils before he wiped his fingers clean on the dirt. Steeling himself, he continued on. He would freeze to death trying to find another place to spend the night; he really could not afford to leave now that the sun had already set. Finally, the once-king reached the end of the tunnel and froze, fear racing through his blood, heart pounding in his ears.

Curled up, panting heavily between licks at its paws, was a small black wolf. Ears pricked and a low growl vibrated deep in the canine's throat. Brown eyes flashed in the timid torch light, meeting his gaze as yellowed fangs bared.

Brown eyes that sent yet another thrill through him, but this time not fear. Instead, he felt amazed, breathless, and baffled. Those were not the eyes of a savage, wild animal, but the eyes of a human. A young human filled with rage and fear. For some reason, those eyes reminded him of his younger sister.

 _You can't mean this, big brother. Don't do this to me. Don't make me leave you! Ivan! Ivan! No!_  A distant scream replayed in his mind that he ignored.

"Hello," he whispered, his voice cracking from misuse. How long — how long had it been since he had spoken to another person? How long ago was it that he gave up asking for help?

Ivan crept in more and the wolf struggled to push itself further away. It kept up its fierce growling, but didn't seem in the shape to attack. Ivan saw smears of blood on the dirt and then saw the blood on the wolf's paws. All four paws were matted with blood and dirt. The wolf really wasn't in the shape to hobble, let alone lunge and attack. Ivan managed to fit his entire body into the burrow, which really was much bigger than he had hoped it would be. It was almost a cave. Maybe it had been a wolf den. Judging by the age of the bones and the lack of any other signs of life, it hadn't been one for a while, though. Most wolves had to move closer to towns or further south to look for food months ago. This was the only wolf Ivan had seen all winter.

Ivan knew quite a bit about wolves, well,  _dogs_. He knew that provoking the animal would hurt them both, so he pretended to ignore it. He busied himself making up the fire and dusting the debris from his shirt left by the collected wood. Then, he curled around the little fire, his hands hovering as close to the flames as possible. The entire time, he'd kept the wolf in his sights. After a while, the wolf had gotten back to licking its paws, still growling lowly. Not only was the wolf battered and bloodied, but it was painfully thin and shaking with exhaustion. If Ivan didn't do something, the wolf wouldn't rest and he wouldn't be able to rest and it would just end up being a terrible night. But how could he calm down an anxious, terrified, obviously starving wolf without getting  _himself_  seriously injured? Eyeing its paws again, he chuckled softly. It felt odd releasing even that much laughter. It had been awhile since something had amused him. He sighed and then shuffled out of the burrow, going backwards to keep his eyes on the wolf.

The wolf only watched him go silently, ears perked up high.

Outside, Ivan took off a boot and filled it with snow. He was shivering violently before the boot was even half full. Then, he scooted back into the little cavern, clutching the boot in his now wildly shaking, freezing cold hands. The wolf hadn't moved and continued to watch him as he set the boots close to the fire, piled on a little bit more wood, and wondered what he should do next. His eyes fell on the scarf around his neck. An entire year and his scarf was still fully intact. It had been difficult, but he had done everything he could to preserve that last link to his sisters. It was the only connection to humans he had, the only connection that he had once been a whole man who had ruled an entire kingdom and had two sisters, one of which had knitted this soft, white scarf for him. He glanced at the wolf, whose breath had evened and whose paws were lying useless on the dirt. With a sigh, he unwrapped the scarf from his neck and, using his teeth, tore it neatly in half.

The wolf sat up awkwardly, ears flat and growling even louder.

"Hush you," Ivan ordered brusquely. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm too weak for that anyway," he mumbled. Oddly, the wolf quieted, though its eyes never left Ivan's hands. He tore one half of the scarf into long strips. Then, he wetted the other half with the melted snow in his boots and shuffled closer to the wolf, hands extended on each side. "Now, wolf, I'm going to help you. And hopefully, like the lion and the mouse, you'll let me live in the morning," Ivan murmured softly.

Once, when he was a whole man, he had wolfhounds. They had been savage, dangerous beauties, but they had been the only creatures he had ever shown kindness. He knew to calm a pained hound one must be calm and that talking or even singing in a low, steady voice helped. Not being one to sing, he kept up his litany of words as he gripped the foreleg of the wolf. It snapped at him, but he merely grabbed its snout and held it still.

"Look here, wolf. I am going to help. Sit still. You have heard of the lion and the mouse? No? I shall tell you if you're a good wolf and be still," he continued on. The wolf bridled under his touch, but didn't bite again when he moved his large hand away. "That's better."

He slowly began to scrub at its paw with his wet scarf, still murmuring softly. "There was a lion once. A fiercesome creature. They are big, big cats with golden fur and they live a land that's always sunny. I do not know why anyone would be angry while living in such a nice, sunny place like that, but that's a cat for you, yes _?_ " He chuckled softly and, in response, the wolf's growls completely died away.

It stared at him, as if fascinated or utterly bewildered, the only sounds now were the muted whimpers of pain as he bathed the poor creature's paws. The wolf really did remind him of his hounds back home and yet…at the same time…

"Well, this big kitty got into trouble one day. It hurt its paw, just like you, friend. A thorn it was, though, not quite so bad as all this. You must tell me one day how you ruined all four paws in such a way…" Ivan added, smiling towards the wolf. The paws were almost shredded and many of the claws had actually been torn away. The paws were so small—the entire  _wolf_  was quite tiny, actually. He had never seen a wolf or hound with fur so pitch black. "This lion moaned and roared and cried all day, but none of the animals were brave enough to help the poor lion. Finally, he huddled all alone, crying and whining, licking at his poor paw. Then, a tiny voice said, 'Lord Lion, I am able help you, but you would eat a creature like me if I came close.' But the lion said, 'No, if you can help, I would give you anything you ever wanted. I would protect you for the rest of your life and I would be your very best friend. Please, help me, little voice.' And would you know it, a little mouse came out of the grass. The lion was so surprised that such a tiny creature could be so brave, or that it could actually help him," Ivan continued on. By now, he'd washed all four paws and was now wrapping them in the strips of wool he had torn earlier. He stroked one paw after he'd finished wrapping it, imagining the teary-eyed smile his big sister would have made knowing what use he had for her scarf now. She had such a big heart, his sister…

"Then, the mouse pulled free the thorn. True to his word, the lion did not eat the mouse and they became fast friends. The mouse was never frightened for his life again and the lion was never alone. It is a good story, yes?" Ivan asked, smiling at the wolf now.

The wolf stared back silently. Again, Ivan chuckled his rusty, awkward laugh and finished his job. As he wrapped the wolf's back feet, he considered discreetly checking the wolf's sex, but it didn't' seem right with this wolf. Those eyes were too human, its reactions too human. Ivan sat back and met the wolf's eyes again, the dim glow of the tiny fire at his back casting shadows that the wolf seemed to blend into as if it, too, were made of darkness. But those brown eyes glittered and shined. Relief seemed to have settled in its tiny, shaggy body and those human eyes were full of gratitude and bewilderment.

"Night," Ivan decided aloud. He smiled suddenly. "You know, 'night' is a feminine word. It fits you. You seem like a female to me," Ivan told the wolf.

The wolf, now named Night, stared at him silently. Then, she turned her head, twisting awkwardly to grab something hidden behind her. The smell of rancid, raw meat and old blood now overwhelmed Ivan. It took all his willpower not to flinch away and cover his nose. In Night's mouth hung a half-eaten rabbit. Some of its entrails still hung from its carcass and its legs hung limply. He felt a moment of disgust and pity, before his stomach growled loudly. The carcass fell to the ground with a quiet thump and the wolf bared her teeth, as if laughing at him.

"I thank you, Night," Ivan said as formally and politely as possible.

In no time, he had what was left of the mangled rabbit cooking over the pitiful flames. The remains he'd scraped away he buried deep in the earth. As he gnawed at his first meal in days, the wolf merely sat, jaw on her front, bandaged paws, her eyes never leaving him. He sucked on a bone and looked at her.

"Is Night a good name?" he asked. He really had no idea why he was striking up conversation with the creature. There was something that seemed to draw him out. Maybe he was just lonely.

The wolf shifted her shoulders, as if she were shrugging in response to his question. He blinked and then leaned back, chewing away at the bone in his mouth.

"Are you a female?"

Her ears flicked forward.

"My name is Ivan."

Again, her ears moved forward.

"Once, I had a much better name, but no longer. Just Ivan is enough for a man such as me," he muttered, throwing the bone towards her. She caught it in her mouth in a flash of yellowed fangs. After a few crunches, the bone was gone. "Will you kill me if I sleep?"

Her ears flattened and there was a derisive snort. He chuckled. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Night." Another huff. Wind whistled down the tunnel of the cavern and Ivan shivered. Even Night quivered, tucking her body into a tight ball until the wind changed.

"Even in here we aren't safe from winter, are we?" Ivan whispered, putting the last of the wood on the fire.

The idea of going back out into the dark and cold for more wood made his blood feel like ice. He reached for his boot and, pulling a face, gulped down some of the water remaining. Night's intense gaze and lolling tongue reminded him that she too might be thirsty and he shuffled closer. She growled warily, but didn't bite when he set the boot in front of her. He waited patiently as she drank the last of it and then set it by the fire to dry before the morning. The bloodied scarf he'd rinsed with snow much earlier was still damp, so he left it by the fire, hoping that his threadbare jacket would be enough.

Ivan pulled his legs up close to his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees, shivering a bit as the fire flickered.

"Once, I lived in a palace. Every night I slept in front of a roaring fire so large it could roast a whole bull. My bed was covered in furs, mostly bear. Bear fur is quite warm, my friend. I am sorry to say some was wolf fur, but none had such beautiful black fur like yours. When I was a boy, my sisters would sleep with me and my older sister would tell me stories of knights and heroes. I wonder… when did I stop caring about those stories?" Ivan murmured, smiling bitterly. "When did I forget that it was my sisters' embrace that made me warm? I hate this cold, Night. I hate this cold that's in my heart. I wish I could regret, so I can feel warmth again, but all I feel is this icy winter. I'll never be warm again, that is what I think."

Ivan froze, eyes widening. Night was shuffling closer to him, huffing quietly as her paws pained her with each timid movement. He didn't move to help; he was too shocked to even breathe. Deliberately, slowly, the tiny wolf wrapped around him, nudging him just enough to wedge herself between his bulk and the wall. Her plumed tail covered his one blue-toed foot and her nose settled just by his boot on the other foot. He gradually relaxed, soothed by the warmth of her body. He didn't think she was sleeping, but her eyes were closed and her breathing was even and slow.

"Thank you…" he whispered. He pried his tense fingers apart and gently laid his palm on her head.

She growled under her breath, one eye popping open to glare up at him. He grinned, stroking between her ears.

"You are my first friend, Night. Tonight, we shall keep each other warm."

She closed her eye and turned her head away, but her body remained curled around his. She didn't knock his hand away, either. He settled his chin on his knees and stared at the little fire.

The fire began to blur and fade. Darkness filmed his vision and he was sleeping more peacefully than he had in years.

The wolf turned her head and stared up at the sleeping man's face intently for most of the night. When the fire died, her eyes glittered, but she never moved.

.

Dawn wasn't much different from twilight. The world was still dim and grey and freezing, but the few birds left in the woods were singing as cheerfully as they could. In the midst of the grey sunlight, a tiny young woman stood staring at her hands. Her face was neutrally blank, no expression to give away her inner thoughts so bent on her hands. Her long black hair, hair as black as pitch, was in a wild braid barely held together by an old, frayed string. The tattered remains of a scarlet dress and black loose-fitted pants hung on skinny limbs. She had the strange complexion of the Goguryeo people to the East.

Her dark brown eyes still stared at the white wool tied tightly around her palms. The same bindings were mirrored on her bare feet. Though she was dressed in only a thin, single layer of clothing that looked like silk, she wasn't shivering, nor were her toes or fingers blue. A gust of cold air blew and she trembled just a bit, then shook herself briskly and raised her nose to the breeze. Nothing nearby. She'd have to the move out soon if she wanted to find something to eat, but her eyes traveled back the way she came. A few yards distant, beyond a rise of ground, she knew the burrow she'd slept in the night before was there, barely hidden by shrubbery.

And inside that little den slept the pale-haired man who'd named her.

 _Night_.

Again, she shook herself, like a dog just out of the water. A deep inhale and she was off, racing through the trees faster than a tiny girl like her should. While most would think going at that high speed meant constant vigilance of her surroundings, she looked merely bored and her thoughts drifted back to that den behind her.

She shouldn't go back. That man was a liability. Coming to this country had been a mistake. She had been seduced by the information that villages were few and far apart and that there was no standing army or policing force to hunt for her. People were too scared of the cold to come out at night and she would be able to live in a modicum of peace. Sadly, this winter also meant an appalling lack of game. For a year she had lived in this place after two years of weary travelling; dodging villages, trying to cover her strange tracks, hiding from hunters or travelers. The past year had been  _so easy_ ,  _so simple_ , but without game she was beginning to starve. Thanks to her body that kept her at a high enough temperature to survive the crushing cold, she needed more and more food. Her body was beginning to eat itself; more and more fat was burning away and now even her muscles were weakening as her blood stole more of their required nutrients. While not a doctor, she could tell she wasn't giving her body enough food just by the way her stomach was growling almost constantly and how much more painful each full moon's phase had become.

Last night had been the first of the full moons. She knew two more nights were left; her body was still trembling with the excess of energy the full moon gave her. Transforming each night and morning for two more days was horrifying in her current condition. The transformations took so much out of her.

But that man… He was in a worse condition than she. Her fingers knotted into a fist, the thick wool abrading her skin. Her paws— hands and feet had been slowly deteriorating the worse the winter became, but yesterday she'd fallen into water chasing that damn, scrawny rabbit. The ice on her hands and feet and the jagged rocks around the creek had torn her skin to shreds and even some of her nails had been ripped off. The transformation had almost been a blessing. It was easier to eat a raw rabbit with canine fangs and jaws than with bleeding hands and dull human teeth. Digging that burrow wider had made her paws even  _worse_. If it hadn't been for that man, she would've been forced to remain in that burrow nursing her hands for at least a day so her speeded healing could work.

He had ruined his scarf for her. Maybe he had done it to save his own skin, to win her trust, but that didn't make his sacrifice any less immense. There was no way a man could live out in the wild in the cold and survive for long. And that man smelled like death and despair. It had made her heart ache to smell him. He reminded her of her own suffering and pain.

She smirked ruefully. She was obviously an idiot. If he had been able to, he probably would have killed her. If he knew her true curse, he would probably be horrified and tell the nearest village to hunt her. It didn't matter. She knew she couldn't leave him — not yet. She hated owing anyone a debt. She would use this day to give him one more day to live.

She was definitely not going back just to listen to his voice.

But it had been so long since someone spoke to her so softly and gently. As if she weren't a monster.

.

Ivan sat in the burrow that night with a rather large pile of wood this time. He wasn't sure if the wolf, if  _Night_ , would return, so as soon as the sun set, he'd used the last light of twilight to gather all the wood he could. During the day, as a swan, he'd merely gone out to stretch his wings and enjoy what sunlight there was to be had in his accursed winter kingdom. He knew he was losing the will to survive. He no longer tried to find food that would suit his swan stomach. He no longer cared to fly. Ivan had found somewhere warm to die and that's what he planned to do.

He sat back on his heels, watching the fire grow. His eyes glanced to where Night had slept the night before, where the marks of blood still shadowed the soil and where the dirt had been disturbed by her paws scuffling. He felt even lonelier now. It was stupid to believe a wild animal could be his friend, but there had been something in her eyes, the way she'd pressed her warm body so close, as if in thanks.

No one had thanked him. He had never helped anyone before either. It was…nice… He clutched his jacket over his chest. Who knew doing something kind could make his heart feel like this? As if, maybe, it had warmed just a bit.

A shuffling noise came from the tunnel and he turned, heart pounding. It wasn't in fear, no, he was excited, anticipating. Maybe she had come back. There she was, a small squirrel hanging from her mouth. Her brown eyes looked apologetic and ashamed. She seemed to say "I should have done better for you" as she hobbled closer, her ears flat against her narrow skull.

He raised his hand. Her hackles rose, but Ivan merely placed his large, bony palm on her head gently. Night whined, dropping the pitiful scrap of fur.

"It is enough," Ivan told her, stroking her velvety black ears. "Thank you. A meal tastes better with company, no matter the size of it. We shall have a feast, my friend."

Her ears stood up and her tail wagged once. Night sat neatly on her haunches, her tail wrapped around her still bandaged paws like a cat. Brown eyes stared at him expectantly. He made short work with skinning the squirrel and putting half of its scant meat on a stick to grill on the fire. Ivan arranged the rest of the meat on the fur and pushed it towards Night. She moved to eat and then paused. Night settled back on her haunches and stared at the meat cooking in the flames.

"You want cooked meat, Night?" Ivan asked. Her ears moved forward in reply. "What a strange wolf."

She huffed, shaking her head. As their meat cooked, he buried the remains again, then went to retie her bandages.

"What… what is this…" he whispered as he pulled the wool away from her front paw.

She whined once, her ears flattening before a growl escaped her. Ivan felt her tug her foreleg, but he kept ahold and brought her paw up closer. Sure enough, her paw was healed. Only a few toughened scabs were on the black pads. Even her claws were mostly grown back when Ivan had been sure most of them had been torn clear off. He looked up at her, eyes wide in shock. Then, Ivan dropped her paw and picked up the second.

"We all have our secrets, don't we, Night?"

Her ears slowly rose from her head, though her eyes remained unsure.

"Let me tell you a story, a story of a very stupid King," Ivan began in the same voice he used while speaking of the lion and the mouse. "This king had everything a man could ever want. A palace, plenty and more to eat, two loving sisters, and a vast, glorious kingdom. But, you see, this king was not a very happy man. Despite all his wealth and power, he was a lonely man. He asked wise men and fortune tellers to tell him why he felt so lonely, why were his riches not enough. They told him he must love. Surely, with two sisters devoted to him he knew what love was? He didn't."

Ivan pulled away and moved back to the meat. He turned it slowly, his hands shaking. Night hesitantly moved forward. She sat beside him and leaned her body against his, letting her warmth soak into him. He was so cold she could feel it in her bones and fear began to fill her.

How could a man be this cold and be alive?

"For some reason, he could not understand love. He could not understand why it was so important, nor why he was unsatisfied without it. He sold his sisters to the highest bidding kingdom. Oh, they were married well, but he gave them no choice. He demanded more and more taxes from his subjects, levied new laws to force them to give him more honors and more festivals. His subjects were required to bring him gifts they hoped to please him and they were penalized if the gift failed to make him smile. He ordered tricksters and magicians and performers from all over the East to come, ordering them to fill his empty heart, but nothing did work. Women tried to enchant him, even men paid court, but nothing could fill his heart and it became harder and harder for him to even enjoy what once had brought him pleasure. Because he suffered, he made the land suffer with him. The Kings of Wunterlin are tied directly to the kingdom, did you know, Night? As long as the King selfishly thought only of his own unhappiness, the more the land sunk into winter.

"And then _the_  magician came. The King thought he had come to try and fulfill his request, but the magician laughed in the King's face. 'Why should I give you anything when you have taken everything?' He cursed the King. The King fled from his palace a year ago, cursed to the wilderness. As long as he lives, this land will be in winter. Only his death will bring spring back again," Ivan told her tonelessly.

Her nose pressed to his wrist, bringing him out of his daze. Mechanically, he leaned forward to snatch the meat that had finished roasting. Ivan handed over her stick of meat and then took his own. Only the crackle of wood and the snap of the flames broke the heavy silence as they gnawed on their meager dinner.

Ivan set his wrist on his knee, letting the twig with what was left of his dinner hang loosely in his grip. His violet eyes were trained on the flames, his mouth a thin tight line. He had come to the resolution to die here, with a companion and a fire, and even a bit of a meal in his belly. It was a good death that would finally bring a sort of peace to his kingdom. He had never been happy, not truly, so what was the point anymore of living. He turned towards Night, smiling a little as she gnawed as daintily as possible on her dinner. It was a humorous and odd sight to see, that's for sure. She looked up at him then, her ears perched high as if in question.

"One day there will be spring in this land again," he said suddenly, breaking their companionable silence. "I miss the days of spring. My sister showed me a secret place once and I went there every spring. There is a place, far to the south, where a garden of suns bloom. Flowers, Night, flowers bright gold as the sun, big and round and tall. When she took me there the tops of the flowers swayed over my head and it was as if I stood in a sea of dancing sunlight. I forgot how much joy I felt in that flower patch. I forgot how happy that spring afternoon had made me. I do not even remember what joy is. It's too cold to feel. But I do know one thing, I will never see those flowers again."

Teeth clamped around his wrist and a low growl startled him from his darkening thoughts. Outside the wind howled and the trees groaned in the tempest. Flurries of snow drifted into the entrance as the blizzard heightened in earnest. However, Night's eyes bored into his, hot and angry. Ivan smiled weakly as the tears he had been ignoring slid down his weary, grey face.

"Would you like to come with me, Night, to see the flowers?"

Her teeth released him. Night laid her chin on his arm instead, tail thumping. Ivan chuckled painfully, the sound grating his ears and throat, as he raised his other hand to stroke her head.

"I will take you there, to the sea of sunlight. I would like to see you there. We could run together. If you were with me, in the spring underneath the flowers, maybe I could feel happiness again."

That night he slept on his side, curled as close to the fire as he could with Night pressed close to his back. Her chin settled between his ear and shoulder, her tail wrapped around his thighs. The sound of her breath and the feel of her heartbeat lulled him to sleep.

He dreamt of his sisters. Ivan reached for them, but they stood laughing in sunlight without even looking at him. He wondered if they forgave him.

Night watched the fire ebb, heart aching as he wept in his sleep.

 _I cannot leave this man_.

.

The wolf named Night and now a young woman was out in the woods, running so quickly the sharp wind cut into her narrowed eyes until tears streamed down her face. She had left Ivan before her body had even felt the beginning cramps of her transformation. She'd have to go much farther today to find something to eat and still be able to make it back before the sun went down. She had a vague plan brewing all night. Watching him cry silently in his sleep had done something to her. It wasn't pity. It wasn't even disgust at a man showing his weakness.

It was a strange sort of desire. One she hadn't felt in a long time. She wanted to  _help_  him. The idea of him in pain hurt  _her_. Night finally had the desire to bring someone else happiness, to support him and give him joy. She didn't know how she could, but she wanted- no, she  _must_  do this. Maybe it was the way he had held her paws and so gently bandaged her. The way he told stories to her so softly and sweetly. The way he stroked her head with his large, shaking hands. The way he'd accepted the odd, rapid healing of her wounds. Or maybe it was his yearning, bitter smile that reminded her of herself. The guilt in his eyes that pulled him into despair until the only way out was death. She knew that guilt and despair all too well. She too had spent three years barely caring if she lived or died, only surviving because there was nothing else to do; her nature wouldn't allow her to commit the deed on purpose. Like Ivan, she was passively dying every day, barely scraping by and barely remembering to breathe.

And then  _he_  came. Whatever his reasons the night before, he had helped her and last night he had done so again. He didn't have to. He could've left, but he hadn't. She even had the smallest suspicion he had waited for her to come back. Why wait for a wolf, a normally savage animal that people hunted for sport, instead of leaving or going to the nearest village to start a pursuit? Maybe he could read her eyes like she could read his? Who knew.

But today, she would come back before twilight. Night would come with an offering in her bare hands and see if, since he accepted her as a wolf, if he could also accept her as a woman. She would keep him alive. Night would fight for each breath for him. If only he could accept her again. If only he would smile at her and tell her again that they could find happiness together.

.

By noon, after almost half an entire day of running, Night was beginning to flag with weariness. If she didn't find anything soon, she would have to turn back empty handed to return in time. She paused at the edge of the forest, gazing with growing trepidation and resolve at the small hamlet just meters away. It was the height of market time, such as there was. She could hear the voices of the villagers, chattering and laughing in a main square, and smell the thin odor of roasting potatoes and meat in the brittle air. Night gazed down at the tattered silk weave that had once been a very beautiful  _choson-ot_ , noting the suspicious lack of goosebumps on her limbs. Even worse were her bare feet that looked perfectly fine though the ground beneath her soles was heavy with hoarfrost. Not only would her appearance cause too many questions, but she had nothing to barter or buy with. But the smell of food was too much. She  _had_  to get her hands on food for Ivan.

Night slunk back into the trees and began to circle the village, narrowing her eyes at the stalls. She would have to use her speed to steal some, then. If it were for sale, then she wouldn't feel so bad stealing it. Finally she caught sight of the only food stall, run by a little crone of a woman who was ladling soup into proffered bowls.

 _Soup_. She remembered that; the soothing, boiling hot broth that warmed one from the tip of the nose to the toes; the surprise of cabbage and bean sprouts, and meat; the red peppers floating in the even spicier broth. She fell against a stripped bare trunk of a tree, tears pricking her eyes and nose at the memory. Night shook her head briskly, brown, tangled locks whipping against her cheeks and lashes like stinging whips on her face. Blinking in confusion, her head turned towards the bright glare of color in her peripheral vision.

 _Just there_. Another stall, just out of her sight — she could barely catch the glimpse of something bright yellow and green. Entranced by the beauty in the middle of such a cold, barren, poor village in the middle of vast land entirely covered in dead winter, she felt her feet trudging forward. Suddenly, she felt cold. She hadn't been this cold in years. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body, all her body shaking. In numb horror, she begin to lose feeling in her feet and in the tips of her fingers. However, she trudged forward, urged on by some inexplicable force.

Night stared in amazed awe at the stall, shivering uncontrollably as she hunched over. The stall was covered in bright yellow glass suns. No.  _Flowers that looked like suns_. Dozens upon dozens. It was as if all the spring in the world was contained in this tiny stall of glass flowers. Even while she shivered violently, her chest felt hot and her heart thumped wildly. An emotion she'd almost forgotten was filling her up at she stared, agog, at the sunflowers.

"I see you've become enchanted, young lady," a smooth, taunting sort of voice interrupted her baffled reverie.

Night jumped and her eyes swung upwards to meet the gaze of the merchant. Bright green eyes under golden hair bored into hers, and she couldn't help but think that this particular man matched his merchandise all too well. Most Wunterlinders had pale silvery hair, though some did tend to be rather blond, but their eyes were normally brown or rarely blue. Never this bright, hypnotizing green. Not only that, but his accent was strange. She almost didn't understand him, her own Wunterlinden comprehension being rusty. The golden hair man shifted, his bushy black brows rising into his hairline. He was slender and looked well-fed, yet more markers that this man was a foreigner, as Wunterlinders tended to be larger and bigger-boned than this stranger, not to mention half-starved from the year-long winter blight and the harsh years of almost-famine before that. The stranger walked around his stall, showing off the bright blue hose and loose-sleeved, crimson, velvet blouse. A black felt vest was snug at his waist and his ankle-length brown coat seemed to float rather than flap inelegantly as he sauntered over to her.

He bowed, green eyes twinkled up at her. Night gasped a little and scooted back, her brown eyes wild with confusion.

"Don't be afraid, my dear. I have a gift for you," the bright man told her, straightening with a smirk. "It's not every day one gets a gift from a magician."

"N-No," Night croaked. The "magician" cocked an eyebrow in question. She cleared her throat and tried again through chattering teeth. "A magician's gift is a curse," she retorted hoarsely, slowly.

The man frowned darkly, then burst into laughter. Night glanced around warily, abruptly aware that the villagers were beginning to look in her direction.

"Well, aren't we Miss Know-It-All," the man chortled, wiping at one eye with his finger. She noticed then that his hands were encased with fur-lined leather gloves.

The image of Ivan's cold blistered fingers came to mind and she suddenly hated this laughing man and his beautiful glass flowers. She turned away, ready to begin the journey back and to look over her now-chilled body in the safety of the woods.

"Wait, Jae-Soo."

Her entire body went still. She couldn't even shiver; the terrified shock was so intense.

"Im, Jae-Soo, this gift is not for you. It is for the man you want to save. You take this gift and maybe you'll find your own redemption."

He wasn't even using Wunterlinden, but her own native tongue from Goguryeo. She rounded on him, wild hair flying around her tiny face, yellowed teeth bared in fury. In seconds, her hands were clutching at his shirt collar, her trembling arms raising him above her head.

"You tell me how you know my name! You here to kill me, golden man?" Night snarled. The man only gazed back at her, completely unimpressed.

"I said I was a magician, didn't I? I know much more than your name. I know exactly why magic is the last thing you'd want," he replied. She glared at him silently, only a growl escaping from low in her throat. "My name is Arthur and you need this," he added. In a blink, he held out his gloved hand, now holding one of the long-stemmed glass flowers. "Show him the sun, Jae-Soo."

Night stared, then slowly set the magician down. When her hands fell away, he straightened his blouse and vest tidily. Once more, he held out the flower.

"Food would be more practical, magician," Night muttered, her hand rising. Her fingertips touched the glass and flinched. Wide, startled brown eyes met irritated emerald.

"This is much more effective," he assured her.

She took the flower. Her fingers, which had turned black with cold, were burning. At the glass's touch, warmth flooded her body, finally returning her to the temperature she had become accustomed to. He bowed again and backed away.

"You both are very close to finding the answers you seek. Don't fail, Jae-Soo. Don't be afraid. There is much more than you know depending on you," Arthur advised firmly, though his eyes were soft and kind.

The grip of her fingers around the glass stem was so tight, she wondered how it didn't crack.

"Who could depend on a monster?" she whispered. He merely sighed, shoulders slumping. Night knew that's exactly what she hoped for, though. Who was this magician, who could read her so well and know words inside her that she had refused to even think to herself?

Night stepped back, then again, and another step, and another. Then, his gaze broke from hers and she spun away in a flash.

She was gone before the villagers even managed to form a question.

.

Ivan sat under a tree, tracking the progress of the sun. He was too weary and weak to do much more. His swan body was so heavy and cumbersome on land and it was much too cold to swim. Besides, the little creek nearby was mostly all ice now. He had halfheartedly attempted to fish earlier, but one look told him that all the fish were gone. He couldn't even hear frogs.

He missed frogs. He missed birdsong and the cries of wild hawks. He missed the baying of his hounds. He missed the glimpse of shy deer, the rustle of fox paws through foliage. Everything about this forest was dead and silent. As shadows lengthened over the ground and the chill deepened, snow began to fall again. Fat, heavy flakes whiter than his feathers. A hush descended, filling the silence with a sort of heaviness that made his brain ring.

Ivan turned his head languidly and felt his heart do a slow, rolling thud in his breast. A girl stood in the falling snow, hands clutched to her chest. Vaguely, he wondered how she could be standing there with so little clothing, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

She was pretty, though, in a strange, fey sort of way. Her gaze was dark, and seemed like regretful. In the dim, he couldn't see what she set down, but the flash of yellow made his breath catch. The girl… it had seemed for a moment that the girl had held a miniature sun in her palm. But now her hands were empty except for a crude flint knife clutched in her fist. She walked over and through the snow, like a dark angel of mercy. The girl knelt beside him, reaching out to stroke his long neck gently.

"You have to die," the girl whispered in heavy, hoarse words. "I do no have a choice."

He wanted to laugh at her thick, broken accent. He wanted to say it was all right. He didn't care what hand took his life or what choice he did or did not have. Ivan spared a moment of pain that he'd not see his wolf again before his final breath, but he would rather die than live as a curse any longer.

.

What had she been thinking? Leaving that village without food! With only a glass flower! Yes, Ivan would like the silly thing, but she needed to feed him! Even beauty could not fill a man's belly. She could survive a little longer without food, but Ivan? He was already starving when they met and the little bit of meat she'd managed to share would not keep for long. It merely prolonged Ivan's suffering a few miserable, hungry hours. In all this forest, in all this land, where could game be hiding? There had surely been more animals to hunt just a day ago! She had been surviving better than this. The entire way back, though, and she hadn't even seen a squirrel! She was almost to the burrow and her hands were empty. Almost. She had her glass flower. Night had tucked it into the tattered remains of her dress, pressed against her heart as she ran. Sunset was coming soon. Shadows were beginning to grow and snow was starting to fall. Hopefully she could find Ivan in time.

Her nose twitched.

Her feet were stopped before the smell completely registered, before even her eyes had tracked the source. Amazement pounded through her as the image of an impossibly large swan lying in a heap caught her eye. She thought, hoped, it was already dead. The idea of killing such a magnificent bird filled her with remorse. Unfortunately, its head moved in her direction. Apparently the bird was too weak to even react— so much the better. At least there wouldn't be a pitiful struggle. As distasteful as the idea was, she had to. Night had been desperate for  _something_  to bring back to Ivan. And, lo and behold, just seconds from the burrow, she had found prey.

Not wanting to dirty, or possibly break, the glass flower, she placed it gently beneath a tree. A long while ago she had made a small flint dagger that she kept hidden with her clothing during the nights. During the day, the little knife was tucked into the belt of her waistband. She unrolled it now, fitting it snugly into her palm as she silently padded over to the majestic bird. It didn't so much as twitch as she neared. The closer she approached, however, the sicker she felt. Her stomach roiled in loathing as she knelt by the swan, vomit clawing at the back of her throat. She pushed the nausea away, irritating at her own sentimentality.

"You have to die," Night whispered in her poor, broken Wunterlinden. "I do no have a choice."

The swan turned its head to better meet her eyes. Its gaze was one of understanding, as if it were saying it did not blame her. She raised her dagger high, stare locked with the swan's, but the dagger fell, just as recognition flashed in both their eyes. Night tried to move her hand away, but it didn't quite work. The dagger plunged into the swan's breast, a little higher than its heart, so she managed to miss her initial mark. Blood flowed from the wound, more spilling in a warm, scarlet rush as she yanked her knife free.

" _Ivan? Ivan!?_ " Night all but shrieked, her hoarse voice choking and catching as if on shards of glass trapped in her throat.

The swan nodded weakly and Night moaned.

"No! No, Ivan! Don't- you can't-  _no_ ," she babbled, unable to word everything at once as panic filled her.

In sheer desperation, she threw her head back and howled in confused grief, but when she looked down again, Ivan's dark indigo eyes gazed sadly into her own. Hurriedly she tore a large chunk of her dress, baring her thighs almost to her hips as she laughed brokenly, hollowly.

"I guess I return favor, Ivan," Night tried to joke as she pressed the red silk to his chest wound and made a messy, bloody knot. It was nothing like Ivan's handiwork, but she didn't have much time. She gathered the large swan, careful not to jostle his injury.

She spent her last hour of humanity to lay him out in the burrow, gather wood and start a pitiful fire. Night wanted to get some snow and melt it in his boot like he'd done before, but she had no idea where he hid his clothes. She briefly realized this meant he'd end up naked later, but she pushed that unimportant note away and went to fetch the flower she'd dropped. She kicked the flint knife into the icy creek as she passed it. After setting the flower by Ivan's head, whose eyes were closed as the swan struggled to breathe, she finally tore off what was left of her dress and laid it out by the fire. Night piled snow there instead and washed the large jagged gash with a red face and stark naked.

"I never want to hurt Ivan. I want only to feed Ivan. Lucky me, I kill you to do it," Night croaked as the last night of the full moon began. She could feel the cramps begin in her feet and legs. "You say we all have secrets. It true. Mine are bloody and fill with rage. I am more than you think, Ivan, more than I look. Surely you know I am Night, even though I have a girl body now." The words tumbled out, slurring and cracking as she struggled with each sound. One violet eye opened and fastened on hers. "I am Night still. I will always be Night if that is what you want. I no know why you swan, but I no care. I save you, if I can. Even if you hate me. Even if you are scare. I fight to save you." She rubbed at her face. "I have gift for you."

She moved to grasp the glass flower, but her whole body seized up and she crumbled into a ball. She curled around her torso, screaming out in pain as muscles and bone cracked and reformed and bent all at once, excruciating pain filling every inch of her skin. She cracked open her watering eyes and gasped. In front of her, Ivan's swan body was growing. Unlike her own disgusting and gruesome transformation, he seemed to glow and form before her very eyes, like two images superimposed on the other so he was at once a swan and a man, feathers and clothing there and not there at the same time. But his face was just as twisted in agony as her own. Through the haze of pain, horror grew as the pool of his blood grew and his wound only worsened in his human body.

Night reached out with one shaking hand in vain. Fur was beginning to crawl over her skin, fingers and nails becoming claws, but a hand wrapped around hers. Her eyes darted to his face and she could see him smiling at her, despite his ashen features and her obviously grotesque change.

She tried to smile back, really. She could feel her lips curve in amazed wonder. Then, she screamed aloud, the world becoming black for that single, intense moment. When her eyes opened, she was entirely wolf, panting and gasping. Ivan's hand weakly released her paw and settled on her head, too weary to actually pet her.

"I do not fear you, Night, nor will I ever hate you," he murmured, his voice as hoarse as hers had been. "Thank you, for trying to save me."

She growled weakly in protest.

"I'm going to die, Night. As severe as the wound had been to me as a swan, that is how severe it is to me as a man. In the morning, just let me go. Leave me here to rot and find a place of sunshine. I don't deserve your loyalty to me," Ivan told her firmly, though his voice was weak.

Night got to her feet, shook her whole body briskly and snatched the flower in her jaws. She set it down between them, then pressed her body along his and began to lick his sluggishly bleeding shoulder, whining. Ivan stared, amazed at the sunflower, then back to her as she nursed his wound.

"Night, where did you— heh. It's pointless to ask, now. It's fine. It does not matter. Thank you for bringing it to me," Ivan whispered.

Ivan placed one hand on Night's head, making it so that he loosely had an entire arm wrapped around the diminutive wolf's shoulders, and the other hand he placed on the glass sunflower. It had to be his imagination, but the sunflower felt warm, as if the late summer sun had been shining on it just moments before.

"It's… strange. I meet… you… and my… wishes come true, Night. I…" he broke off, gasping slightly and Night's tongue brushed his cheek quickly, lightly, causing a slight smile to grow on his lips. "I am no… no longer… lonely… and I can see… I see a sunflower… again." His feverish violet eyes met hers. "I only… wish… you could… have spoken… your name."

They passed the rest of the night in silence, only huddling close in the dying fire's light. Occasionally Night licked his wound that, as a man, was just under his clavicle and was a large, jagged hole. That flint knife really hadn't been the most delicate implement and its effect on the swan's body had been devastating, so the wound was almost beyond recognition on the man. She could feel his body trembling and his breath fluttering the tips of her fur; she could hear the beat of his heart as it slowed, the whistle of each inhale and exhale passing his cracked, dry lips.

 _Don't die_ , she wanted to scream, inwardly cursing her wolf's body for the thousandth time.  _Live, Ivan. Don't leave me alone again._

Then she finally felt it. Dawn. She could feel the twisting of her muscles and sinews, the subtle shift deep in her marrow. She whined, shuffling closer to Ivan, fear rushing over her in waves at the freezing temperature of his body. Her brown eyes anxiously gazed at his face, ears pricked for the slightest sound and, finally, she caught it. A ragged, shallow breath and slow, weak thump of his heart. Her fur was matted with his blood long gone cold. The idea of him going through another transformation in this condition- even if it wasn't quite like hers, she knew he felt pain. Night growled aloud, yelping once, as the pain overtook her — at last. She could feel their hands together one more time, finally be able to help him, carry him to a village, bandage his wound better, give him snow to wet his mouth. Through her pain, she could feel his hand wrap around her paw and she peered through a film of lashes and red haze to see his violet eyes open again, that peaceful, tight smile on his face.

"Night," his voice was barely a thread of sound, faint and feeble.

She twisted and stretched and contorted, mentally screaming in agony as the transformation took her. Night tried her best, though, to stay in place, to keep from flailing or snarling or howling as she normally would. It was always hardest, the most painful, on the last morning as her body fought to remain a wolf. Then, her fingers slipped between his, lacing together in an intimate gesture she couldn't remember the last time she'd shared. His grip was so weak and slight, but she wanted to laugh and cry from it. That he would hold her through this, keep his eyes on her grotesque change and still smile at her as she lay panting at the end. She never dreamed that it could happen, that  _he_ could happen.

"J-Jae-Soo," she gasped when she lay completely and wholly a girl again. "Im, Jae-Soo."

"Jae-Soo," he repeated softly. His wounded arm, that he had wrapped around her shoulders as a wolf now tried to draw her closer, but he winced instead. Instinctively, she shuffled closer, ignoring the blood that stuck to her skin and hair and stained his shoulder and chest. Their noses almost touched and heat flooded her face from being so close, but his voice was so quiet. Surely he wanted to say something to her, maybe give her instructions to help him, where to take him. In the back of her mind, she wondered why he was still a man and not a swan, but the automatic answer was too terrible to contemplate. His hand behind her head stroked her hair once as he rolled forward.

Her eyes widened in shock when his lips fell over hers. She was rigid, as if frozen by his chilled lips—indeed, his whole body was beyond cold. She burned where he touched her, despite the clothes that had magically appeared last night. Jae-Soo's grip on Ivan's hand tightened until the creak of his bones stopped her. Ivan's lips, though freezing, were soft and chapped, gentle on hers, seeking a response. With a sigh, she relaxed into the embrace, moving her mouth with his, under his, a sort of joy blooming like a sun in her heart. When he pulled away, she couldn't open her eyes. She let herself enjoy that warmth in her breast, gradually realizing just what emotion it was.

Happiness.

Jae-Soo opened her eyes, a small, awkward smile on her mouth. When was the last time she smiled? She locked her gaze on Ivan's grey face, moving to rise, to take him to help, and then frowned, the smile melting away as if it had never been. He hadn't opened his eyes and his chest…his chest wasn't moving.

"Iv-Ivan…Ivan?" Jae-Soo choked, getting to her knees. She grasped his good shoulder and shook him lightly. "Open you eyes, Ivan. Ivan!?"

She couldn't hear his heartbeat. And his eyes didn't open.

" _Anni…Annio,_ " a sob was building in her throat. "No, Ivan. Stay with me. You say…we could find happiness together. I can…I can no be happy without you. You are my happiness," Jae-Soo whispered, doubling over and pressing her forehead to his. "There no sunshine without you. Be a swan. Be a man. Be a king. I no care, just live."

"Teacher."

She shuddered and sat up. His eyes were still closed, his face grey, but his lips, once blue, were slowly warming to pink again. His lashes fluttered and her breath caught in her throat. Violet eyes opened, hazy and blurred.

"I-Ivan?"

"T-teacher. I'll be your teacher. Your Wunterlinden is terrible," he muttered hoarsely, so quietly she could barely hear him.

Jae-Soo blinked rapidly then burst into laughter. As she laughed, a bright, golden glow filled the cave and Ivan sat up, groaning. They both looked down as the glow shined even brighter. The forgotten flower was the source. It was lying in the pool of blood, but as it shined, the blood began to disappear. Bit by bit the blood dissipated, washing both Ivan and Jae-Soo in its warm light. Jae-Soo sighed in pleasure, her eyes closing as she was suddenly drenched in sunlight. When she opened her eyes again, the man before her was completely different. His clothes were brand new and almost sparkling with pristine white, scarlet satin trim, and gold braid. Black boots shined mutely. A thick, gold ring with a large ruby was fitted over his pinky. His hair fell in soft, silver waves over his forehead, brushing his slightly darker brows. His body had filled out, too. No longer dangerously gaunt, he seemed bigger and wider and taller.

Then, she remembered she was stark naked.

She scrambled for her dress where it sat in a muddy puddle, her whole body flushed red with embarrassment. A heavy weight fell over her back and she sat up, startled. The large white coat fell around her legs and Jae-Soo stared at it, uncomprehending. There was a low chuckle and Ivan scooted closer and once again lifted the coat and placed it around her shoulders, tucking it under her chin.

"You are a beautiful girl, Jae-Soo, but for now we'll leave you covered."

Her wide brown eyes met his, baffled and shy under his mischievous violet gaze.

"You… you are alive," she whispered, rather stupidly, she thought seconds later. Ivan chuckled again and stroked her hair, tucking a few wild strands behind her ear.

"Because of you. When you said I was your happiness, I knew I felt the same. I could barely hear you, as if you were at the other end of a very long, dark tunnel, but I did hear you. I knew that if you could love me, despite my curse, despite all the wrong things I've done in my past, that you could find happiness with me, that I, too, had found my happiness."

The blush on Jae-Soo's face became scarlet.

"I — I didn't say love," she muttered, pouting a bit as she looked away.

Ivan laughed again, a deep, happy laugh that warmed her to her toes. She glanced up at him through her lashes, smiling a crooked smile as his face lit up with joy. She reached out, hesitated, then entwined her fingers through his again. He looked down at her, that gentle, innocent smile on his face, without the least bit trace of bitterness and her heart rolled over.

"I will say it then. I love you, Jae-Soo," Ivan told her simply. Then, he cupped her face and kissed her again. This time, he wasn't cold at all.

.

When they managed to get Ivan out of the burrow, the whole land was filled with sunlight and already the trees were bursting with green and animals were returning in a chorus of birdsong and chattering. The soil was soggy with snowmelt, but the air was warm. They walked together through the forest, hands clasped tightly.

"Who are you, Jae-Soo?" Ivan asked abruptly as he helped her over a creek. She flushed brightly at his timing. He of course had to ask while his hands were on her waist.

She pulled quickly away, but didn't pull away her hand when he grasped it again. Jae-Soo had the feeling he did that purpose. Ivan seemed to enjoy taking her off guard. She grumbled a bit under her breath.

"I from Goguryeo."

Ivan waited a beat. "I figured that much. Do all Goguryeoans turn into wolves?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. She threw him a dirty look which made him laugh.

"No, obviously," she snapped. She huffed a bit and looked away. "It a curse," she finally admitted lowly.

His grip tightened. "I know about curses, Night."

She blinked in surprise. He hadn't used that name since she told him her actual name. She smiled a bit, but her eyes were dark and sad.

"In Goguryeo, twins are forbidden. If they are born, you must kill the firstborn, if you no kill them both. It no happen much, but I… I a first born twin," she murmured softly. "My family was very rich, very powerful. Everyone in Goguryeo know the name of Im. My family think they are too smart for a silly curse. Just an old wife tale, they say. Nothing happen for sixteen years and my brother and I, we think our family is right. We were happy and stupid," Jae-Soo spat. "On sixteenth birthday, my brother and I were dancing and singing with our family. Many were drunk, everyone laughing. All day, I felt strange, but I think it must be because I a young woman-" she broke off, blushing brightly and Ivan covered his mouth with his knuckles, pressing back a smile.

"I had two sisters. I understand. Continue," Ivan prompted.

Jae-Soo cleared her throat awkwardly and did as he bid, though each word was getting harder to say. They came haltingly between pregnant pauses and low coughs to clear the phlegm building in her throat as she spoke.

"The moon rose. A big, bright, full moon. I remember  _feeling_  it and looking up as …as if I hear it in my ears, this loud ringing like bells. Then…there was pain. I remembering hearing my screams, brother trying to hold me, father and mother coming. There was a smell of blood and then screams. Screams from everyone. People running and all I think is pain, pain and the screaming, I must stop the screaming. I suddenly open my eyes and it is morning. I was  _me_  and I…I was…" she shuddered and had to stop walking, her brown eyes wide and pupils dilated. She tried to pull her hand away, but Ivan pulled her closer instead.

"Finish," he ordered softly. Jae-Soo inhaled sharply.

"I was on top Yong-Soo, my brother, my teeth at his throat. He crying, begging me to wake up. I crawl away and then I see… I see my family was dead. All of them, teared apart like dolls. I can taste their blood in my mouth…even now, I see brother and all that blood. I ran away with my teared dress still on back. I still running. It been three years," Jae-Soo looked up then, desperation in her features as she clasped his other hand tightly, searching his inscrutable face with wild brown eyes. "I never kill anyone again. I learn to control my change. It still hurts, but I kill no one. I hide until I keep the panic away. I change into wolf only when the moon is full, sometime twice, sometime three a month. I run fast and I heal fast and I always hot, never cold. I no want to kill anyone. I never…I never want to kill my family. I  _love_  my family. And they all dead now."

"Your brother, though…your brother is alive."

Jae-Soo nodded once. Ivan released her hands and she let out a small cry of protest. Then, she drew herself up and bit down on her lip. He watched her gather her emotions and bottle them away behind her glittering brown eyes. He smiled and took her face in both his hands.

"We've both made mistakes. Your past…it wasn't half so bad as mine, dear heart. You see, you didn't mean to kill those people. You were never told the truth about your curse, never warned of what could happen. That first time, you were so a wolf that you couldn't help what you did. You panicked and you attacked, because that's what a wolf would do. But me? I condemn hundreds of my countrymen to famine and death from the cold because I couldn't find happiness. I was beyond selfish. I let my own desires become more important than the needs of my people. If you could accept me despite that, how could I not accept you for something out of your control, Jae-Soo? It wasn't your fault your family died," Ivan told her firmly.

Her mouth quivered before she flung herself forward, pressing her face to his chest, her hands balled into tight fists at her side.

" _Kumsumnida_ ," she murmured brokenly, gritting her teeth to hold back relieved tears. He stroked her hair.

"I don't know what that means," he replied softly. He was rewarded with a quiet, hoarse laugh.

.

Within a few months, Ivan was once more on the throne. However, he didn't sit there for long. With Jae-Soo, he travelled his land and helped small villages rebuild. It was spring again in Wunterlin, spring unlike his country hadn't seen in decades. Everyone was tilling fields, re-thatching roofs, and rebuilding homes that had been infested with creeping mold and mildew. Everything was growing and blooming, filling the country with almost forgotten scents. The people began to love their king at last as he spent months out in the sun with them, laughing and working and sweating with them. Even the strange Goguryeo woman found a way into their hearts with the way she made their king shine.

After almost a year, not long after the first harvest which more than filled every home and more, Jae-Soo's past finally found her. Yong-Soo appeared, but instead of calling her out or demanding her death for atonement, he only ran to her and held her close, laughing and crying wildly all at once. Yong-Soo told Ivan and Jae-Soo that he'd been looking for her the whole time, but it was a lot harder to find a wolfgirl than just a girl. He then promised to send all her things and all the money she'd inherited as a dowry— despite the fact she denied she and Ivan were betrothed.

She denied it until the day she was fitted for the dress. She was mostly dumbstruck until she was at the altar on the first day of spring. When told to speak her vows, she almost ran, but Ivan grabbed her hand tightly. As she stood trembling, wondering how in the world she'd ended up about to marry a king, he'd leaned down close to whisper in her ear.

"You are my happiness, too, Night."

They spent their honeymoon far to the south, in a field of sunflowers almost taller than Jae-Soo. Every year they returned to their field of sunshine and Wunterlin was never plunged into eternal winter ever again. They grew old and happy together, even during the nights of the full moon when a strange black wolf travelled the land. So they lived

Happily Ever After.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the chapters already written. I have another chapter in the works, but it's been in the works, for like, 2 or three years. Let's see if I actually get it finished written, let alone typed up and posted at long last! Please, let me know how you liked my precious little OC. She's the only OC I've written in years and I still have an outrageous soft spot for her.


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